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Zinovy Sheinis

MAXIM LITVINOV

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
BY VIC SCHNEIERSON

Progress Publishers
Moscow

CONTENTS

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MAKCMM J1HTBHHOB
Ha am/iuucKOM H'Jbixe

An Unavoidable Introduction

Part One. The Making of a Revolutionary

Chapter 1. An Agent of the Iskra

Chapter 2. Underground in Russia

Chapter 3. The Gun-Runner

Chapter 4. Berlin and Paris

Chapter 5. The London Years

Part Two. THE DIPLOMAT

Chapter 1. People’s Ambassador

Chapter 2. Herald of Peace

Chapter 3. The Copenhagen Assignment

Chapter 4. The Estonia Assignment

Chapter 5. In Genoa and The Hague
Chapter 6. On the Upgrade

Chapter 7. New Objectives

Chapter 8. The Washington Mission

Chapter 9. The League of Nations

Chapter 10. Hard Times

Chapter 11 The Comeback

THE EPILOGUE. Litvinov’s Last Years
Notes

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English translation © Progress Publishers 1990
Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

4702010204-057
014(01)— 90

63-90

ISBN -5 -0 1 -00 1 9 3 1 -0

An Unavoidable Introduction

The generation of Russians born shortly before the Great October
Socialist Revolution knew Maxim Maximovich Litvinov very well. He
was rarely referred to by his surname, simply as Maxim Maximovich.
Everyone knew who he was.

Factory workers, farmers, soldiers and generals, writers and scien-
tists, just about everybody, would nod approvingly reading the trans-
cript in the morning papers of a speech by the Foreign Affairs Com-
missar at a session of the USSR Supreme Soviet, in the League of
Nations, at a disarmament conference or any orher forum-always
witty, always brilliantly constructed, stigmatising the enemies of
peace and of the Soviet Union. And they said to each other, “Maxim
Maximovich has again put up a good fight.”

A member of the Communist Party since 1898, Maxim Litvinov
belonged to Lenin’s old guard, and had been exceedingly active in
the twenty years before the October Revolution of 1917 . in the
name of the Revolution he never spared himself, but neither did
he attach importance to that fact. Only Lenin knew about it, and a
small group of old Bolsheviks. 1 Litvinov belonged to that nucleus of
professional revolutionaries who had been distributors or, as they
were then called, agents, of the Iskra, the Party’s first own newspaper

' W , aS ° ne 2 ° f th ° Se Wh ° b ° re the brunt of the smuggle against the
Mensheviks. 2 It was with these hardened cadres that Lenin led the
arty out of its crisis in the hardest years of the struggle.

Very soon after the October Revolution, on Lenin’s suggestion

t h::x™:z p °;r y ;°e“ p d,plom “ c •»* hcid

To the life of this man I have dedicated this book.

mother lfSl tl f 1C 1 hCard ° f Lltvinov was in my early childhood. My
ZTLZZ Th u St0k ’ the tOW " Litvinov’s birth. She had
home. She ' "V ^ ^ 3 frec l uent: S uest at th e Litvinov

U P revolution”" ° r8 ° r ^ y ° Ung man she met therc who had “taken

made my acquaintance with Litvinov indirectly when reading

his brilliant speeches in the League of Nations and elsewhere. It was
not until 1937 that I first saw and heard him. He had just returned
from Geneva, and was asked to give a lecture to the staff of the
Party’s Central Committee. A few of the Moscow journalists who
wrote on world affairs were invited, and among them I, then a neo-
phyte newspaperman and still a student of the Communist Institute
of Journalism.

I saw Litvinov again in 1940. At that time, I ran the world news
department at Trud, the daily of the Soviet trade unions. I already
knew some of the big lights of Soviet diplomacy closely associated
with Litvinov. Early in 1940, Trud solicited contributions from a few'
former ambassadors, and I came to know Alexander Troyanovsky
and Boris Stein, with both of whom I became friends, and then also
other diplomats. My association w'ith them benefited my paper, and
me as well.

At first, we never spoke of Litvinov, although I was deeply interest-
ed in the life of the man who had fallen out of favour. Not until we
got to know each other better would we now and then mention him
in our conversations. And one summer evening, after a hard day’s
work at the editorial office, Boris Stein invited me for a walk. Along
the way he said he was going to see Maxim Litvinov. As we approached
Litvinov’s house, we saw' him from afar. A few other people were
with him. I said good-bye and walked away. But Litvinov’s stocky
frame impregnated itself on my memory.

The Nazis attacked the Soviet Union in 1941, and like millions of
my countrymen I joined the armed forces. After the w'ar, 1 was as-
signed to the Tagliche Rundschau, a German-language Soviet daily
appearing in Berlin. This gave me access to various archives, including
those of the Nazi Foreign Ministry, and to the splendid Berlin Univer-
sity library. I found material there about Litvinov. Thus, new facts
were added to what I knew from my prewar conversations with
former officials of the People’s Commissariat of Foreign Affairs.

But a lot more had to be done before I could tackle the long
since conceived plan of writing a book about Litvinov. Circumstan-
ces were not always favourable. Gradually, however, I gathered more
material. Nor could I afford to lose time: many of those who were
once associated with Litvinov, were passing away. I looked for and
found some of the diplomats and Communist Party functionaries who
had knoum him. Two of them I have already mentioned, and will
name a few more, but to list all of them is simply impossible.

In those days I spoke with Yevgeni Gnedin, then chief of the
Foreign Commissariat’s Press Department, Ivan Maisky, Soviet Ambas-
sador to Britain and Deputy Commissar for Foreign Affairs, Semyon

Mirny, a high-ranking foreign affairs adviser, Semyon Aralov, Soviet
Ambassador to Turkey and other countries, Anastasia Petrova, who
had been Litvinov’s assistant for quite a number of years, Benedict
Kozlovsky, Soviet Consul-General in Shanghai, China, Yuri Koz-
lovsky, Litvinov’s personal secretary, Vladimir Barkov, a Party mem-
ber since 1906 who was in charge of the Foreign Commissariat’s
Protocol Department, Nikolai Lyubimov, who took part in the Genoa
Conference as a Foreign Commissariat expert, Anatoly Miller, another
Foreign Commissariat expert who participated in many interna-
tional conferences, and Vladimir Pavlov, government interpreter and
member of the Foreign Commissariat’s Collegium. Altogether, I had
records of 96 conversations with Party functionaries and diplomats.

It had not always been easy to get people to talk, and still harder
to obtain the desired material. Shades of the past were in the way.
Sometimes, people met me with some distrust. “Oh, you want to
write about Maxim Maximovich? Splendid idea! Very useful! But
will you be able to? Besides, I don’t remember a thing.”

Gradually, however, a conversation would develop, and the pano-
rama of Litvinov’s life— revolutionary, diplomat and man, would
unfold.

My talks with Lydia Fotiyeva, who had been Lenin’s secretary
from 1918 to 1924, was most instructive. She remembered Litvinov
at sittings of the Council of People’s Commissars when he had first
returned from abroad. Tatiana Liudvinskaya, Party member since
1903, had been associated with Litvinov during his emigre years in
Switzerland, and later also in Moscow. She was glad to tell me every-
thing she could remember.

I also studied foreign sources. Bourgeois researchers had quite
considerably distorted Litvinov’s image. No few crude falsifications
were put out about him, including Notes for My Diary ascribed to
is pen. As Paul Blackstone, a former member of the U.S. secret ser-
vice, revealed in the U.S. journal Weekly Review, however, the Notes
were abricated by a Grigory Besedovsky, who had defected from the
soviet Embassy in Paris in the late 1920s.

All the material had to be properly examined. It was not too dif-

H J U , refute the various fabrications, while Besedovsky’s false lit-

tle book was promptly exposed by the foreign press itself. '

fftr . c Cn my ^° rk was nearl Y completed, 1 asked Anastas Mikoyan 3
useful r ^ m ^ m rances Litvinov. My talks with him were exceedingly
a foreword S ^ rCading my man uscript, Mikoyan agreed to write

opimo^ a f atalk WHh Vyacheslav Molotov, 4 whom I asked of his
Pinion of Litvinov as a diplomat. He described him as one of the

greatest Soviet diplomats, but did so twenty years after Litvinov’s
death.

My stock of material increased, but I looked for more witnesses.
Not only prominent personalities, but also those we describe as the
rank and file. Nikolai Klimenkov, cipher clerk with the Soviet delega-
tion at the Genoa Conference in 1922, was one such witness.

1 had spent five years working on archives. At first I was told I
would find nothing or next to nothing. But 1 made plentiful dis-
coveries: I found valuable documents in the Central Party Archives
of the CPSU Central Committee’s Institute of Marxism-Leninism,
the Central October Revolution State Archives, the Foreign Policy
Archives of the USSR Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and so on.

In 1964, I asked Litvinov’s family to share their remembrances
with me, and to show me whatever material they had at home. Ini-
tially, my request elicited very little enthusiasm. 1 was told they had
nothing special to show me. But when the first few chapters of my
future book were published in journals, I received a warm cable of
thanks from Litvinov’s widow and his children. Contact was thus
established, raising the curtain on one of the most interesting periods
of my research.

Gradually, week after week, old newspapers, purely personal
documents that were thought inconsequential but were invaluable
to me, were pulled out of cupboards, boxes, and other secluded
spots. 1 spent evenings chatting with Ivy, Litvinov’s widow, and his
children Tatiana and Mikhail, and periods from the diplomat’s life
arose before me. Usually, our conversations ended with my asking
if they had anything more.

“No, nothing more,” was the usual answer. “Oh, yes, a photo-
graph. It might be of interest...”

During our tea-drinking, which was usually in the kitchen, my
attention was drawn to a built-in shelf-like cupboard beneath the ceil-
ing. The lofts and attics of old villas, the basements of merchants’
houses, and of abandoned buildings, always have a spell of mystery
about them and to me that shelf held the same spell. One night,
as our conversation had begun to flag, I finally asked Ivy if there
could be something there. She laughed. No, there was nothing.

“Please, let me look.”

“By all means-Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

I climbed on a stool, opened the door, pulled myself up and climbed
onto the shelf. I crept along it. In the semidarkness, I saw it was
filled with old things. I rummaged about, then jumped down to the
floor with a basket that had caught my attention. There, under the
bright light of the kitchen lamp, I discovered what the family called

Litvinov’s personal file.- his passport when he was secretary of the
Bolshevik colony in London, a visiting card of the People’s Ambas-
sador of Soviet Russia to Britain, the sole extant copy of a book Lit-
vinov had written in London, The Bolshevik Revolution: Its Rise
and Meaning, proofs of a preface he had written on Lenin’s request
to the first Soviet Constitution, which he published in London in
1918, and clippings from British 1917 and 1918 newspapers, includ-
ing a Times report about Maxim Litvinov, the prisoner of Brixton
Gaol.

My meetings with Litvinov’s family were spaced out over several
years. I was given many interesting documents, and among them let-
ters to his family during World War II, when Litvinov was Soviet
Ambassador to the United States.

My book about Litvinov was completed in 1 966. Editors of some
central journals showed interest, and published a few chapters from
it.

n itw i i 1 v.' i v

were puDJisnea

a an

interval of 18 years. Not until 1986 did matters begin to move again.
One chapter after another was printed in the journal Novaya i novei-
shaya istoriya (of the USSR Academy of Sciences), and some frag-
ments appeared in other journals.

I began receiving letters from Old Bolsheviks who had known
Litvinov. Former diplomats and Party functionaries, and people
of other occupations and age brackets telephoned me.

One evening, for example, a lady called who did not give her name.
She only said she had read chapters of my book in various journals.
She asked me to come and see her. A most pleasant surprise was in
store for me when I did so. The lady was Vera Dudovskaya. Her
mother, Rosalia Dudovskaya-Rosenzweig, had been Maxim Litvinov’s
messenger during the first Russian revolution of 1905.

I still have Litvinov’s letters to my mother,” said Vera.

“Many?”

“About fifty, I think.”

“Where are they?”

Here. You can use them in your book.”

1 here were decidedly more than 50 letters. Seventy-eight, in fact,
o ay, more than 80 years later, they shed additional light on the

1 ° S ? times ’ and provided new details to the portrait of the
then 30-year-old Maxim Litvinov.

rn I' me u ad ! eft j tS mark ° n the m: it took a lot of painstaking work
lenpr e h iP i er ^ ***** Writing in ink and P encil - I hope to write at
helped 1 ° Ut r , r S f l !' tterS further on - Let me j^t say here that they
C eSta Ish the g c °graphy of Litvinov’s activity in those days.

The April 1986 Plenum of the CC CPSU and the Party’s 27th
Congress set the course on democratisation and glasnost. Books that
had lain obscurely in the drawers of desks or on the shelves of reposi-
tories finally saw the light of day. The salutary changes also applied
to my Litvinov manuscript. It has finally reached its readers.

Maxim Litvinov was a man of Lenin’s mould, a patriot of the
Soviet land, its herald and champion at all junctions of the struggle.
He was a convinced anti-fascist and a no less convinced international-
ist. And that is how 1 endeavoured to portray him. I have not been
able, within the limits of this book, to produce as complete a por-
trait as I would wish. But I trust that time and life will add the finish-
ing touches to it.

Zinovy Sheinis

It was becoming ever more difficult for Litvinov to function.
I hough he was still People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs he noticed
that a vacuum had gradually begun forming around him. On Stalin’s
instructions, Litvinov’s deputy Potemkin published foreign policy
articles in the journal Bolshevik and other mass media. The first Lit-
vinov learned about them was when they appeared in print New
people were appointed to the Foreign Commissariat without his
nowledge. It reached him that many Soviet ambassadors sent their
reports over his head to Molotov. He learned that in some countries
Soviet trade representatives doubled as ambassadors. David Kandelak,
for example, who was trade representative in Berlin, had for some
time had direct contacts with Molotov on diplomatic matters

Litvinov became aware that he was no longer able to change

sXh T g ' ^ and Wrote his Ration. But doubts as-

ailed him, and he put it m his safe. “How I would like to relax at the

wh^rTsh fCW dayS ’” hC Wr ° te his Wife in Sverdlovsk,

where she was running a course of English

a few days S °° n W ° UW h *" lo “ ° f

Stalin look!* 27 ’ Lltvinov was summoned by Stalin. Though

tov Who was r K y Calm> he WaS ° bviOUSly vexed - As for Molo-
tov- who wa s present, he was simply vicious

ing wi^nci?cL m r ing ° n ^ 4> lhe Forei S n Commissariat build-
Malenkov an d R Y ° f the Intenor Commissariat. Molotov,

was fired.’ ’ Wh ° amved at dawn , informed Litvinov he

He MwTpIatoon" f the . mornin g- Litvinov went to his countryhouse.

“Whv this h S ° ldlCrS gUardin ^ jt - Hc calIed up Beria.

Why this business with the guards?’’

Bena giggled. 6

A Y few^dTvs^d f?° Valuable - We must ? uard your precious person.”

relieving LitvLv fh^ i^T’ appeared m the papers,

g ov of his job. The reaction all over the world was one

of dismay. Urgent cabinet meetings were called to discuss the situa-
tion. A sharp turn was expected in Soviet foreign policy.

Von Ribbcntrop flew in to Moscow on August 23, and signed
a non-aggression pact. In the evening, Chaikovsky’s “Swan Lake’’
with Galina Ulanova in the lead, was shown at the Bolshoi. Litvinov,
accompanied as usual by guards, went to see it. This was his first
appearance in public after the dismissal. Shortly before the curtain
rose, Molotov and Ribbentrop appeared in the government box.
The orchestra played the German national anthem and the Interna-
tionale. Everybody stood. Litvinov did not. There were acquaintances
all round, but none dared speak to him. Not until the last interval,
when Nina Mirnaya, wife of the removed Soviet diplomat Semyon
Mirny, came up and said hello. Litvinov observed: “You’re a brave
woman!”

Some time later, Litvinov’s membership of the Central Commit-
tee of the Communist Party was terminated at a plenary meeting.
A tense silence fell. Stalin was intent on not letting Litvinov speak.
But as many times before in his life, Litvinov simply walked to the
rostrum and had his say. He said, among other things, that it was
possible to delay, if not avoid, a war. Though Germany meant to at-
tack the Soviet Union. Then he said there were hardly any Old Bol-
sheviks on the Central Committee, and without him there would be one
less. The number of Mensheviks, on the other hand, was rising, one
of them being Andrei Vyshinsky.

Litvinov spoke for ten minutes. The hall listened in silence. Molo-
tov alone made heckling remarks. Stalin, puffing on his pipe, walked
slowly up and down the stage. When Litvinov finished, Stalin spoke.
Sharply, he rejected everything Litvinov had said. When he stopped,
Litvinov faced him and asked:

“Does this mean you consider me an enemy of the people?”

Stalin stopped in his stride, and said, spacing his words:

“We do not consider you an enemy of the people. You were an
honest revolutionary...”

At that very time, in Beria’s office, Yevgeni Gnedin, chief of the
Foreign Commissariat’s press department, was being interrogated.
Beria and Kobulov, one of his deputies, sat on either side of Gnedin
and played what they called “pendulum”, hitting the man who sat
between them on the side of the head with their fists. They kept
hitting and hitting to make Gnedin testify against Litvinov.

Gnedin kept blacking out, was revived, and the beating continued.
His mouth bleeding profusely, he said for the n’th time: “No, no, no.
Litvinov is straight, a faithful son of the Communist Party and the
people.”

After Litvinov’s resignation, indeed, mass media all over the world,
along with statesmen and public leaders, speculated about his future.
To this day, people marvel at how he had survived the grim years of
the Stalinist repressions.

Since speculation continues, an answer is called for. Especially
now, when in the setting of glasnost, blank spots in the history of
the Soviet land are swiftly disappearing.

Certainly, Litvinov was immensely popular across the country,
and small wonder, considering his revolutionary record and diplomatic
career. But there must have been other reasons.

For Litvinov, meanwhile, the dreary months of enforced inac-
tivity dragged on and on. He spent most of the time in the country.
Walking in the woods he analysed the swift succession of world
events. But surely, sometimes his thoughts must have turned to the
past, to the times before the October Revolution, to his emigre
days in Geneva, Paris, London...

PART ONE

The Making of a Revolutionary

Chapter I

AN AGENT OF THE ISKRA

A secret police circular dated August 21, 1902* instructed police
chiefs at all levels, and particularly all border guards, to capture
“those most dangerous criminals, and have them transported under
close guard to Siberia”.

The Russian police was after a group of revolutionaries who had
escaped from a Kiev fortress-prison. The escape was so daring that
even experienced gendarmes, all the kingpins of the secret police,
were speechless with rage.

Small wonder. No political prisoner had escaped from that prison
in the previous 24 years. The last escape was in 1878-by Lev Deutsch,
Jan Stefanovich, and Ivan Bakhnovsky— members of southern rebel
groups who tried starting a peasant uprising in Chigirin Uyezd.

Would the police manage to recapture the latest lot?

A list of the Iskra 5 agents and their description was sent to all
police stations across the country. The fifth on the list was Max
Wallach, “a reserve army private of the second grade, townsman of
Belostok, Grodno Gubernia, born on July 4, 1876, Hebrew, educat-
ed in Jewish schools in Belostok”.

Max Wallach, his description said, was implicated in the case of a
subversive printing plant and storage of seditious literature put out by
a secret society that called itself the Russian Social-Democratic
Labour Party. The police described Wallach as red-haired, of average
height and sound constitution, clean-shaven, blue-eyed, short-sighted,
round-faced, and dark-complexioned.

Since that August day of 1902, the name of Max Wallach never
ceased to figure in secret police dispatches for the next 15 years.
He was sought by Russia’s Internal Affairs Ministry, the Police Depart-
ment, the Special Branch, an army of police spies, chief of Russian
Police agents abroad Harting, and Russian agents in Paris, Vienna,
Prague, Sofia, and other European capitals. At different times, he
was sought as an agent of the Iskra, an agent of the Central Commit-

*A11 dates up to February 1,1918, are in the Old Style.

2-01072

tec of the Russian Social-Democratic Labour Party, as chief gun-run-
ner aiming to organise an armed insurrection in Russia, and as head
of Bolshevik emigres in London. The police knew his Party aliases:
Papasha, Felix, and Ginger. But there were many more: Count, Louv-
inier, Kuznetsov, Latyshev, Felix, Theophilia, Maximovich, Harrison,
and Kazimir.

He has gone down in history under his most lasting alias, one that
became his regular surname— Litvinov.

Like many other young people of his generation, Litvinov
joined the revolutionary movement at the end of the 19th century.
It was the century that had witnessed the Decembrist uprising, the
killing of Pushkin and Lermontov, countless peasant disturbances,
the first workers’ strikes, and the unexampled heroism of Russian
soldiers at Borodino, Sevastopol and Shipka, it was a century that
began in the reign of Tsar Paul I, a sadist who was himself strangled
in his bedroom, and ended with the rioting in Khodynka Field 6 in
Moscow', that bloody prelude to the inglorious reign of Tsar Nich-
olas II, the last of the house of the Romanovs.

Russia had come to the edge of world-shaking events. The Narod-
nik movement had exhausted itself. At the turn of the 20th century,
Lenin described it as totally barren. Revolutionary Marxism was
capturing the minds of the workers. Speaking of the situation in
Russia, Lenin wrote proudly in the first issue of Iskra that the Rus-
sian workers’ struggle of the five or six previous years had shown the
enormous revolutionary potential of the working class. It had shown
that the ruthiess government reprisals tended to increase, rather than
dampen, the workers’ aspirations to socialism, to political conscious-
ness, and political struggle.

The battle of ideas also reached provincial Belostok. The local
multilingual intelligentsia recited Nadson’s violently emotive poetry,
passed round postcards of Sofia Perovskaya 7 and Andrei Zhelyabov, 8
and read timid monologues against tyrants at secret homeside recitals.
The workers in Belostok’s textile factories warred with their em-
ployers, objected to the ruinous fines, and demanded increases of their
miserably low wages, chased out overseers, and beat up police spies.

The large Jewish population employed in the factories was the
nucleus of the petty-bourgeois Bund 9 in the west of Russia. But
gradually, towards the end of the century, the revolutionary Social-
Democrats gained a grip on the minds of most people in Belostok.

Quite inevitably, revolutionary ideas also reached into the home
of the petty bank employee Wallach, father of three daughters and
four sons, among them Maxim.

In the Central Party Archives of the Institute of Marxism-Leninism
I found a scrap of grey paper on w'hich someone had scribbled Lit-
vinov’s biography. Judging by the note on the margin, it was written
for Grigory Lelevich, literary critic and poet who was subsequently
editor of the journal Na literaturnom postu. A few emendations in
the text were made in Litvinov’s hand. Here is what the biography
said: “Educated in a secondary school. While in the army (as volun-
teer) he studied socio-economic matters, read Karl Marx, and joined
the Russian Social-Democratic Labour Party as a propagandist.”

Soon, Litvinov left Belostok. He did not particularly care where he
went. He heard that a factory in Klintsi, Chernigov Gubernia, was
looking for an accountant. And though he had not the slightest idea
of how to keep books, he thought he would give it a try. In Klintsi
he managed to borrow a manual on bookkeeping, and finally ventured
to offer his services, and was taken on.

But more important things had to be done. There were several
large factories in Klintsi, making cloth and leather, and processing
hemp. A propagator of Social-Democracy had more than enough
things to do ill that little town founded in the 18th century by
Old Believers.’ 0 In the year that he spent in Klintsi, Litvinov organ-
ised secret gatherings and readings of banned books, and taught
the basics of political knowledge.

In 1899, he moved to Kiev, where he was made member of the
Kiev Committee of the RSDLP.

His Kiev period was not long-just three years, out of which half
were spent in jail. Police reports of that period give a good idea of
what he had done, speaking at factories and public meetings, setting
up a secret printing plant, and writing and distributing leaflets against
t e autocracy. Among the hundreds of reports in the police files I
found this one:

According to available information ... Wallach attended a gather-
mg eld on March 18, 1901, in the house of defendant Marshak where
a mamlest 0 of the Southern Workers Party was read aloud. Two
ousand copies of it were to be printed and distributed in Kiev.”
c informer was a Black Hundreder 1 1 who was glad to supply
e po ice with a copy of the leaflet and attached a long letter warn-
ing of “the grave danger to the lives of His Imperial Highness the
niperor, the Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich, and His

nosTsev”^’ Pr ° CUrator of the Hol y Synod, Mr. Pobedo-

for"rh 0mrad u S ’” thC leaflCt Said ’ > in our ranks of workers fighting
to other n ? tS; read ° Ur leaflets ’ newspapers and books; pass them on
tners. More workers must awaken to their interests. More workers

must fight for their rights. All workers cannot be tucked away in
prison.”

Some copies of the leaflet were picked up in the streets and for-
warded to the gendarmes. Arrests began. One of the prisoners broke
under torture and provided information about the local Social-
Democratic leaders.

At the end of April 1901, Litvinov was arrested together with the
other members of the Kiev RSDLP Committee. He landed in prison.

He was 24 at the time. Behind him were four years of underground
revolutionary work, four years of sleepless nights, four years of
escaping from police raids, four years of organising secret quarters,
printing seditious leaflets, and setting up Social-Democratic cells in
Klintsi and Kiev factories.

His father, who had died in the meantime, had never tried to stop
his son s revolutionary activity. He knew it was hopeless. Besides,
his son was hardly ever at home. Even as a schoolboy he was often
out, seeing visiting revolutionaries or reading banned books.

Policemen were frequent callers at the Wallach home. ‘‘Where’s
your son?” The mother would shrug her shoulders in fright: “1 have
no idea. What do you have on him?” The policemen would be given
a glass of vodka and a rouble, which they nimbly hid in the cuff of
their sleeves, and went away, only to reappear a few days later. His
mother and sisters came to see Max at the Kiev Prison. That was
the last time son and mother would see each other.

Litvinov’s letters censored by the secret police provided a few facts
about that period of his life. Some passages were written in code.

In prison, Litvinov learned about the existence of the newspaper
hkm, which was being put out by Lenin. Friends from outside provid-
ed details about the Iskra programme; so did every new lot of political
prisoners. And Litvinov made an option that shaped the rest of his
political life: he became an Iskra-ite.

Here are his recollections of those days:

“In prison, by devious means, we got newspapers and even under-
ground literature from abroad. Words fail me to describe the joyous
excitement that gripped us on receiving the first issues of the Iskra.

I he tasks, and the ways of the revolutionary struggle of the proleta-
riat as formulated in them with the maximum clarity, and the mer-
ciless war against economism-all this was in keeping with our mood,
our thoughts and aspirations. It opened up new horizons and generat-
ed a lust for work, a lust for struggle, and a desire to regain our
freedom and join the new Iskra movement.”

Not to waste time, Litvinov began learning foreign languages. He
pored over textbooks brought to him from outside, for he did not

expect to stay too long in prison. This was clear from his letters to
Dora Bergman, sent through trustworthy people. It is hard to say who
Dora Bergman was. Litvinov never met her in person. She had left
Russia and settled in Switzerland. His letters from the Kiev prison
reached her at 9 Vogelsangstrasse, Zurich. (A few years later Dora
would do secret work on Litvinov’s instructions.) ‘‘There are 74 of
us in prison at present,” he wrote to her. “A motley crowd-from
Iskra-ites down to a former criminal accused of arousing the peasants.
He is a most suspicious character.”

Litvinov was eager to receive news about the Party. Three years
had passed since its first congress, but the Party could hardly be
said to have crystallised organisationally. In many towns, RSDLP
organisations were left to fend for themselves. Many did not even
attempt to start a political struggle. They figured it was enough to
make economic demands. After ail, the first congress 12 was^held
without Lenin, who was then in Siberian exile. Only now, at the
turn of the century, was the Party on the way to political action.
The Iskra was a splendid guide, but many things were still unclear.
The new paper had enemies. The time had come to look into every-
thing, to try and understand. But it was first essential to regain his
freedom.

In those July days Litvinov was preparing an escape. An unsigned
note was attached to a letter to Dora Bergman, written almost com-
pletely in code. The secret police was convinced the letter was from
Litvinov. Some policeman added “M. Wallach” at the end of the at-
tached note. And he was right. In his next letter Litvinov wrote.-
, len da Vf a 8° 1 sent you a coded letter. Did you get it? The word
Australia’ will be our code from now on. When you write to me,
make sure the gendarmes can’t guess who is writing and to whom if
* e etter falls into their hands... Sorry to make you w-aste time on
decoding. At first glance, it may seem superfluous, but I cannot write
any other way. I feel fine, I dream of freedom, and soon my dream
will either come true or shatter completely.”

Quite obviously, the letter was not decoded by the police until
a ter the Iskra-ites had made good their escape. How the escape had
been prepared, the police in St. Petersburg and Kiev learned much
atcr. The police department reported that it had received information
rom its agents abroad that emigre revolutionaries said the League of
Social-Democrats (Iskra and Zarya) had decided to help all the more
mportant Iskra-ites in Russian prisons to escape. It had picked out
persons whose freedom was most important in the League’s
opinion, and made passports for them.

The escape was planned by the Iskra Bureau in Russia, the newspa-

per’s editors, and, of course, the prisoners themselves. Litvinov was
chosen chief, for he was a resolute man and of great physical strength -a
most important factor.

The report of the Kiev Governor-General to the Minister of In-
ternal Affairs in St. Petersburg, dated August 21, 1902, traced the
escape preparations. “Some of the political prisoners in the Kiev
prison,” the Governor-General wrote, “had some two months ago,
that is, in June, requested the acting inspector of prisons in the
presence of Chief Warden Malitsky to let them have their daily walks
in the hospital yard because swill carts made the prison yard unfit
for walking, or else let them stay out a little longer, until dusk.

The Inspector turned down their request categorically, but told
the wardens not to let any swill carts cross the yard when political
prisoners were having their walk.

“Chief warden Malitsky took it upon himself, however, to let
political prisoners stay in the prison yard until 9 p.m. in order to
avoid unpleasantness. Similarly, he permitted prisoners in the polit-
ical corridors to communicate freely among themselves.”

It follows from the above that the Iskra-ites were able to discuss
and set the final date of the escape. Whatever they needed was sent
in by friends from outside. On the outside, the escape was stage-
managed by Dora Dvoires, a member of the Kiev .RSDLP organisa-
tion. A grappling-iron was smuggled in inside a basket of flowers on
the occasion of a prisoner’s “birthday”. Bed sheets were to be used
instead of ropes, and there was the requisite amount of vodka to get
the wardens drunk.

The police version of the escape, as submitted to the Minister of
Internal Affairs, was fairly accurate:

“On August 18 at 8.15 p.m., when it was getting dark, some 20
political prisoners from different corridors were in the prison yard on
the right. A few men approached the unsuspecting guard, Trofim
Overchenko, and jumped on him before he could utter a sound.

I hey flung him to the ground, put a rope round his neck, and covered
his head with a blanket. They also gagged him, and in so doing injured
his lips and cheek. The others threw a grappling-iron with a rope
ladder over the wall, whereupon 11 prisoners ... scaled the wall and
jumped down on the other side, making good their escape. Then,
the prisoners holding Overchenko let him go and went to their cells.
Overchenko fired into the air, and the acting deputy chief warden,
Sulima, followed by other wardens, rushed to the spot at once.”

Ihe shot fired by the frightened Overchenko did not help. In a
panic, Sulima reported the escape to his superiors. The Kiev gendar-
merie did its best to catch the fugitives and, naturally, cabled St.

Petersburg. A thorough search was made of the neighbourhood,
but none of the fugitives was found. The authorities decided that they
would try to cross the border. Frontier guards were ordered to re-
double their vigilance. “Be good enough,” said a coded message to a „
gendarmerie officer on the frontier, “to intensify the search for sus-
picious persons trying to leave Russia. Arrest them if you have any
doubts about their identity.”

Similar coded messages were sent to all border posts on the western
frontier and to the authorities in 295 towns of the Russian Empire.

The gendarmes were in too much of a hurry. Litvinov and his com-
panions had no intention of crossing the frontier on the same day or
the next. They did so a fortnight after the prison break.

Litvinov revealed these facts in March 1951, at a meeting on the
50th anniversary of the Iskra. According to the escape plan/nonc of
the fugitives was to stay in the city overnight in view of the probable
raids. Each was to pick his own route. Litvinov and another three
comrades were to leave Kiev by boat along the Dnieper that same
night. The boat waited for them at the prearranged place. But they
had to change their plan.

He had lowered himself by a rope, I.itvinov said, and started to
run, but after a few steps fell into a gully in the darkness and stumb-
, upon a human body. The man was gasping for breath and could
barely state his name. It was Blumenfeld, one of the fugitives, who
ad a heart attack and was unable to move. Litvinov could not leave

fnnT h m hC ‘ ple5S State ' He tried carr y in S him, but soon
ound he was too heavy. Bestdes, Litvinov had injured his arm in

low and P™n wall. All he and Blumenfeld could do was he

ow and watt They heard the prison warden's shot. People were

the n," 8 ' and hOFSeS Wcre Sloping by. Two long hours passed until
he pursuers returned. The curses and exclamationTwere dear evidence
that none of the fugitives was caught.

out' n R th r C m k eandme ’ Blumenfeld recovered. They decided to start
t. But where were they to go? They had missed the boat: the

crept rra a ngeC time Had IOng S ‘ nCe PaSSed - Cautious| y- on all fours, they
ept across an empty lot, finally reaching a city street. Their an-

LThad mudd^f h g bUt reSpemble ’ for « had rained « night and

ing from Z 1°^ ^ p — ded be d ™k, Lmbl-

got into his cab and i vT Smgmg ' A cabb y offered his services. They
could get a drink He hr C ° ^ ? ke lhem an y where as *ong as they
where thev drnnn d gHt thCm t0 a vicious-looking inn,

asleep. ' ***** ° n t0 the B -ch and pretended to fall

On leaving the inn, Litvinov and Blumenfeld went to a bathhouse.

Here they washed up, brushed their clothes, and went to another
bathhouse. All day long, in fact, they wandered from bathhouse to
bathhouse. Then, for something like a fortnight, they hid out in a
rented room, risking to be betrayed by the landlady. Finally, on a
dark night, Litvinov and his companion walked out of the city and
crossed fields and woods to reach Zhitomir Highway. At the nearest
railway station they boarded a train for Wilno.* They had a Wilno
address where they could go to ground. A smuggler promised to take
them across the border. Litvinov recalled later that they got off a
train at some tiny stop and continued on horseback to a little village
on the frontier. There they hid in haystacks for a day and a night.
One of their companions, a young man who had his eyes on them all
the time, aroused their suspicions. They feared he was a police spy
who would seize them so close to freedom. Finally, after nightfall,
the smuggler suggested that they walk some distance on foot. Then
they were told to run, and, finally, they heard the smuggler’s happy
exclamation that the border had been crossed. They were in Prussian
territory and could, if they wished, have a glass of bread wine in the
nearby pub. All of them had a drink, and Blumcnfeld, who was a
teetotaler, also swallowed a glass and was instantly drunk.

Soon after the escape, the chief of the Grodno gendarmerie report-
ed to his superiors that his agents had intercepted three of Litvinov’s
letters to his mother from abroad.

The letters were very short, but showed what the young Iskra-itc
experienced after his escape.

One of the letters was dated September 10 and was mailed in
Stanupenel:

“You were probably informed from Lodz how 1 departed from
the prison and Russia (not forever). You must therefore know some
of the details. 1 had a hard time physically and morally— harder than
ever before. But days of rest are near. For all of ten days I experienced
fear of a military tribunal for attempting to escape. But now I am
out of danger. Forgive me for writing only a short letter, because 1 am
fagged out. I’ll write again from Berlin or Switzerland.”

The next letter was dated September 11, and was posted in Berlin.

“My dear folks, have just arrived in Berlin and haven’t rested yet.
So far I’m happy. Are you? Goodbye. I’ll write about my plans in
two or three days. Kisses, your Max.”

The letter also had a date written in by the police: September
14-18.

The third letter:

* Wilno, now Vilnius, capital of the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic.

“My dears, here’s letting you know that I am well and safe. The
three days in Berlin have been very tiring. Now, I am leaving. Can’t
promise that I’ll write until I come to Switzerland and have a bit of
a rest. Yours, Max.”

This letter Litvinov wrote at a Berlin railway station. An hour later
he boarded the train for Switzerland. The 3rd class car was noisy and
crowded. One landlord estate after another flashed by outside. He saw
the tiled roofs of tidy little houses, the baron manors, and the castles
of medieval knights.

The Iskra man in Berlin advised Litvinov and Blumcnfeld to go
straight to Switzerland, not stop anywhere. He knew the Russian
secret police had close ties with the police in Berlin. He feared the
fugitives might be detained. But freedom was an intoxicating thing.
Litvinov’s energy brimmed over. He was eager to see everything, to
make up for lost time. From the papers, he learned that the German
Social-Democrats were holding a congress in Munich. August Bebel
was sure to be there. So Litvinov and Blumenfeld got off the train
and went straight to the congress. The two Russian revolutionaries
were given a rousing reception.

Litvinov reached Zurich thoroughly worked up and spoiling for
a fight. A few days later, the rest of the Iskra-ites arrived. The prison,
the escape, crossing the border, and the eventful travel, were all for-
gotten. There was no end to their joy. They gathered in a restaurant
beside the Schaffhausen Falls on the Rhine, and celebrated their safe
escape. In the end, they sent a sarcastic telegram to General Novitsky,
chief of the Kiev gendarmerie, who had sworn publicly he would
destroy all Iskra-ites. The first to sign the telegram was the chief of
the escape, .Maxim Litvinov.

At the turn of the century, the working-class movement in Russia
received a powerful guide to action, Lenin’s book What Is to Be
Done?. The book’s impact and significance was that it refuted the
idea of the workers’ confining themselves to fighting exclusively for
higher wages, and that it laid the ideological foundation for a Bol-
shevik party.

Detailed elaboration of revolutionary theory blended in Lenin’s
book with meticulous care for good organisation. In the autumn of
1901 in Geneva, Lenin took part in establishing the League of Rus-
sian Revolutionary Social-Democracy Abroad. It embraced the Social-
Democrat organisation, and the foreign departments of the Iskra and
Zarya. As conceived by Lenin, the League was to supervise the dis-
tribution of the Iskra and Zarya, and to train leaders for the Russian
revolutionary working-class movement.

The colony of Russian emigres in Zurich lived very frugally.
They rented the cheapest possible digs, their earnings were casual
and miserly, and quite often they went hungry. Some broke under
the strain and gave up politics for good. The Iskra-ites were the most
tenacious. And Litvinov was one of them. He was put in charge of
the secret meeting places in Zurich and of the distribution of the
Iskra. A member of the League’s foreign administration, it was up to
him to receive revolutionaries who had escaped from tsarist Russia, to
maintain the secret hiding places, and to keep in touch with represen-
tatives of the Iskra outside Russia.

Such was the beginning of Litvinov’s activity as Iskra agent. In
September 1902, Nadezhda Krupskaya sent Iosif Basovsky, one of
the Kiev fugitives, Lenin’s project of how to organise the transporta-
tion of the Iskra. Under this plan, an Iskra transportation office would
be in charge of shipping the paper and other literature to Russia, and
also of smuggling in Party workers. Very soon a conference of Iskra
agents was convened (most probably in Geneva), where Maxim Lit-
vinov was unanimously elected secretary of Transport Groups Abroad,
of which Lenin was duly informed.

In the autumn of 1902, the Iskra was printed in London and
shipped to Zurich. From there it had to be smuggled into Russia. A
large number of copies was mailed “legally” to St. Petersburg, Mos-
cow, and other cities, with the addresses, including those of persons in
high places, being supplied by Iskra agents. Copies of the Iskra were
also given to travellers going to Russia legally. Some were hidden in
secret compartments within heels of shoes and boots, but most
frequently beneath the lining of specially designed jackets that took a
considerable number of copies. Many copies were sent to Social-
Democratic organisations overland through the services of profes-
sional smugglers. Here is how Litvinov described this:

“Literature was first posted from Switzerland to some large city
in Germany or Austria, say Berlin, Leipzig or Vienna, and from there
to the border towns of Tilsit, Memel, Gusiatin, and the like. It was
addressed to some German Social-Democrat, who turned it over in
suitcases to a professional smuggler. The latter’s job was to bribe the
border guards and carry the suitcases across. In the nearest village
or town they were picked up by comrades in charge of transport
on the Russian side. Here is where the most difficult and the riskiest
part began. Most of the failures occurred at this stage: one could
run into border guards, who looked with suspicion at all freights
at every step, at every crossing. Besides, there were guards at all
railway stations in the large border zone.”

Letters and other evidence tell the story of Iskra-ites active in the

border zones. They convey the flavour of the times and tell of simple
deeds in their way heroic.

Here’s a letter to Litvinov dated September 28, 1903, posted by
an Iskra agent named Markov in the little border town of Schwindt:

“I am stuck on the border the past three days, and have changed
three or four houses. They keep me a day, milk me of my money,
and pass me on to the next address. Just when I think I’ve found the
man who’ll take me across, he says he must hand me on to another,
and that one to yet another, and so on. A German passed me on to
a Lithuanian, and the Lithuanian to another Lithuanian. I spent a
day and a night with him, until he said they could not take me across
because my clothes would give me away... So I left. Now I’ve found
a Jew. Seems my troubles are over. But since I can’t be sure I’ll cross
safely, I want you to know a few things...”

After the Party’s Second Congress 13 the struggle between the
Bolsheviks and Mensheviks grew sharper still. It was doubly impor-
tant, therefore, that every issue of the Iskra should reach its readers
in Russia. By order of the Central Committee, Litvinov tried sending
the Iskra in via Austria. But here, too, the difficulties were immense.

The Iskra people had no money. The workers in Russia contributed
whatever coppers they could spare. The German Social-Democrats
helped out now and then. Now and then, too, foreign friends con-
tributed a little something to the Party’s cashbox. But often enough
Iskra agents asking for money would have to be told there was none.

Litvinov kept the Iskra’s accounts himself, keeping track of every
spent rouble, franc, or mark, and wondering constantly where he
could scrape up a little more.

You ought to see those time-yellowed pages from the Iskra ac-
count book: received 200 + 20+ 20+ 10 + 60+ 10, and so forth.
Wretchedly little. While the expenses were often big. Litvinov put
down everything-how much he issued, and to whom: 60 roubles for
the Iskra agents’ boots, fares 360, Veniamin 5, Semyon’s crossing 5,
compositor Andrei 6, Ilya who escaped from Suvalki 16, Abram 10,
comrades in transit 22, maps 5, packing 61, and so on, with the debit
adding up to 1, 780 roubles. Also attached was Pyotr’s note on how'
much he had spent transporting literature in November— down to a
kopeck, or centime, or pfennig. And a similar note from Miron, also
dated November. Attached, too, were detailed accounts of how
many copies of what publication had been sent to Odessa, Yekateri-
n oslav, Yelisavetgrad, Poltava, Nikolayev, Kremenchug, Moscow,
and Kiev.

On October 12, 1903, Litvinov wrote a note to one of the Iskra
subscribers and distributors: “Please, let me know on what terms you

are getting our literature (15 copies of the Iskra) and how much you
owe us.”

Exactly. How much? The price of 15 copies wasn’t to be sneezed
at. Because money was scarce. And it was not surprising at all that
he told off an agent who had arranged a route without the Zurich
centre’s knowledge:

‘‘Dear Comrade, have just received your cable. My reply.- we can-
not send you money. You should have known that from my previous
letters. I don’t know who authorised Demyan to make arrangements
and then come here for money. What surprises me is that people think
we abroad can have as much money as we want. Why send people to
the border thinking they’ll get money the moment they ask for it...

“We’ve sent you 150 franks through Dora to pay your debts...
But where is she? A real mix-up with her whereabouts. Let us know,
please, how much more you owe and how much you need to straight-
en things out with literature in Lemberg.*

“Tell Galitsiisky copies of the Iskra for the Revolutionary Ukrain-
ian Party are being sent to Galkevich (Mikola) in Lemberg.”

The Iskra was also mailed to places outside Russia. There were
Iskra representatives in many European countries. Apparently, there
was much interest in the Balkans. Litvinov was in close touch with
Georgy Bakalov, a Bulgarian writer and revolutionary, who kept a
Party bookshop in Varna and a network of Iskra outlets elsewhere
inside and outside Bulgaria. The main base, however, was in Varna,
from where literature was forwarded to other points, notably Odessa.

Here is one of Litvinov’s letters from Geneva to Bakalov in Varna,
dated June 5, 1903:

“Dear Comrade, have sent you the following pamphlets: What the
Social-Democrats Are After, Stories from the History of the French
Revolution, and Songs of the Revolution.

“I have a request. At the end of 1902, Georgiev said we should let
him be general sales agent in the Balkans for the Iskra, Zarya, and our
other publications. We consented...

“Please, let us know of some convenient bookshop that would agree
to sell our publications in Bulgaria, Serbia, Romania, and Mon-
tenegro.”

The routes of the Iskra in the Balkans may well be traced by
Litvinov’s letters to Bakalov and other Bulgarian revolutionaries.

The Iskra-ites had a sea route as well: Marseilles-Alexandria-Odessa.

1 hey had had it since 1901. Pyotr Smidovich, a Russian revolutionary
expelled from Russia and living in Montpellier near Marseilles, who

* Lemberg— the Austrian name for Lvov.

had spent years in France, had been in Belgium before and was clo-
sely acquainted with some French trade union leaders, was the inter-
mediary between Litvinov and the French seamen who took along
shipments of literature.

A succession of agents passed the Iskra and other literature down
the line for shipment to Batum and other Black Sea ports. Books
and newspapers were placed in hermetically sealed rubber containers,
which were tied to the stern and lowered into the water.

In transit ports, the Iskra organisation had numerous willing help-
ers. The literature was carried not only in French ships, but also in
Russian vessels working the Marseilles-Odessa line. The most fre-
quently mentioned steamers were Alexandre Dumas, Anatolia, Mem-
phis, Syracuse, and Mingrelia.

But not all shipments reached their destination. The St. Petersburg
police, which had learned of the sea route, tried to paralyse it. At the
end of August 1903, Litvinov received an alarming letter from Marseil-
les. The Iskra agent there, a man named Kokobadze, wrote: “This
letter is a bearer ol ill tidings. A 300-kilo shipment to Batum was
seized aboard the ship by company spies last night. Three men were
fired. I don’t know if they’ll manage to recover the literature. I’ll do
my best to help them. Halt further shipments to Marseilles...”

But the police reprisals could not stop the Marseilles-Odessa opera-
tion. A steady stream of Bolshevik literature flowed to Russia from
France by the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. Lenin’s writings
reached Russia safely bypassing the roadblocks.

The Mensheviks sought to gain control of the Iskra politically and
administratively. The chief of the Iskra printshop in Geneva at that
time was Blumenfeld, the man who had been Litvinov’s companion
in the daring escape from the Kiev prison. After the Party’s Second
Congress, he sided with the Mensheviks. This meant that the Iskra
plant might fall completely into the hands of Lenin’s opponents. So
the Bolsheviks decided to put Litvinov in charge of the printing as
well as distribution in Geneva.

This occurred in late September 1903 and led to an unpleasant
incident between Litvinov and Blumenfeld. Litvinov recalled it at
the Iskra jubilee celebrations fifty years later, saying that the incident
was typical of the Mensheviks.

The episode is described at length by V.D. Bonch-Bruyevich and
Pavel Andriyevich in a communication to the Party’s Central Com-
mittee of September 30, 1903. “On September 28,” they reported,
“we came to the Party’s printshop in Geneva to see Comrade Litvinov
on business. The three of us retired to the editorial room. At 6.40
P-m., after a heated conversation with Comrade Litvinov, Comrade

Blumcnfeld locked all three of us in, and departed, taking the key
along. Not until 55 minutes later did we regain our freedom by
unscrewing the lock of one of the doors with a screwdriver that a
compositor threw us through the window. On the following day,
both of us received identical letters from Comrade Blumenfeld,
apologising for what he had done. It was clear from the letters that
he had meant to lock in Comrade Litvinov alone, because he writes
that he had forgotten we were in the room as well. We consider
Comrade Blumenfeld’s action, especially in relation to Comrade
Litvinov, extremely improper and beyond the limits of permissible
friction between comrades of one and the same political party.
Though wc are satisfied with his apologies to us, we consider it our
duty to raise the matter with the Central Committee. Since we find
that this action against a person in an administrative Party capacity
discredits the principles on which our Party is run, and since we con-
sider Comrade Blumenfeld’s behaviour a breach of Party discipline,
we, who had been present at the incident, beg the Central Committee
to look into the matter and state its opinion.”

A specially set up commission condemned Blumenfeld ’s behaviour.

After the printshop incident, the ways of Litvinov and Blumenfeld
parted for good. A few months later, Litvinov was dispatched to
Russia to do underground work.

He handed over his affairs in Geneva to other comrades, and was
supplied a new passport. The way home w'as dangerous and difficult.
He went to Berlin first, then to Vienna. The final leg from Austria
to Russia, however, lay past countless police checkpoints.

The night before his departure, Litvinov spent a few hours walk-
ing along the shore of the Lake of Geneva and the Rhone embank-
ment farther and farther up into the hills. Who knew how long he
would be free? It was already spring in Switzerland. The Alpine
meadows were abloom.

Tsarist police agents abroad kept a close watch over Litvinov.
They had learned that he was planning to leave Switzerland. What
they did not know was how and where he intended to cross the
frontier into Russia. On March 8, 1904, the chief of police sent a
coded telegram to all border posts in Western Russia: “The wanted
Max Wallach has left Berlin for Vienna on March 6, and plans to cross
into Russia illegally. Redouble your vigilance.”

The police report was a little premature. Litvinov was detained in
Berlin on Party business. Now he was watched by Harting, chief of
Russian police spies abroad. On March 19, the latter reported to
St. Petersburg that Litvinov had that day left for Vienna and intended
to go on to Russia illegally. But none of the policemen knew where

he would cross the frontier. New messages were sent posthaste to all
points on the border to apprehend Litvinov at any cost and send
him to St. Petersburg under guard.

Too late. By then Litvinov was already in Russia. On March 2,
1904 (New Style) Nadezhda Krupskaya sent Litvinov a coded message
from Geneva to Minsk, informing him that Minsk, Gomel, and No-
vozybkov would henceforth come under the Party’s Polessye Com-
mittee. Here is the text of the letter:

"Dear friend, do you happen to know that Minsk comes under
the Polessye Committee? Gomel and Novozybkov, too. Both towns
are asking for people and literature, with work going on exclusively
among Russian workers. Gomel has even agreed with the Bund that
it would not touch the Jewish workers, though it did make the fol-
lowing reservation, ‘owing to local conditions’. This is absurd. If
resources were lacking, it would be more sensible to give up all work
in the district rather than enter into an intolerable agreement. For it
means accepting the division into Jewish and Russian workers, accept-
ing the Bund’s point of view. Since you are stuck in Minsk, visit
Gomel and Novozybkov at once, and then move south as quickly as
possible for there’s plenty of work there and the shortage in people is
appalling.”

A new stage began in Litvinov’s revolutionary career. He became
a full-fledged Bolshevik undergrounder in tsarist Russia.

Chapter 2

UNDERGROUND IN RUSSIA

Early in the 20th century' the Russian armies were defeated in the
Russo-Japanese war in Manchuria, and the Russian navy, considered
unconquerable, was sunk.

The decay, stupidity and wretchedness of the governing elite, the
immorality of the ruling dynasty, and the corruption of the govern-
ment-all this now came to the surface in frighteningly bold relief.
Nothing could be concealed, nothing could be window-dressed.
Everything was denuded: the tsarist system showed all its faults for
the world to see.

Russia was seething. It thirsted for change. It was fraught with
revolution.

After the Second Congress of the RSDLP, the revolutionary move-
ment was making good headway. Economism, the idea of fighting
for the workers’ economic demands only, had been ideologically
crushed. But not all the Social-Democratic organisations in Russia
were militant enough. Litvinov was one of those whose job it was to
propagate the Bolsheviks’ ideas.

The Central Committee instructed Litvinov to settle in the western
regions. He was in touch with local Party organisations there, and
knew local conditions well.

Nadezhda Krupskaya had asked him to visit N’ovozybkov. The
Bolsheviks in that town had a good base. The Iskra editors had con-
nections with Fyodor Gubarev, owner of a Novozybkov bookshop.
Litvinov had corresponded with him from Zurich, and had supplied
him copies of the Iskra from abroad. Gubarev had been a faithful
distributor, and, naturally, Litvinov lost no time to find him and other
Novozybkov Bolsheviks.

I have managed to trace the routes followed by Central Commit-
tee envoys at that time. Certainly, Litvinov did not sit on his hands.
In the spring of 1904, he went to the south of Russia. From there
he went to the Baltic states. In Riga, he was elected member of the
local RSDLP committee.

A Bolshevik centre was set up in Russia towards the end of 1904,

its members having been selected at a special 22-man conference. 1 5
Its instrections were to rally Bolshevik forces in Russia and launch
preparations for the Third Party Congress.

Throughout the autumn months of 1904, Litvinov travelled up
and down Russia, changing passports time and again. If the police
had caught him, he would have faced 20 years’ hard labour. And spies
were looking for him all over the country. Tfic chief of the Wilno
police was informed that Litvinov was living in the city illegally.

In those last few months of 1904, the correspondence between
Lenin and Litvinov was fairly intensive. Litvinov was elected to the
RSDLP’s North-Western Committee. He visited Riga, St. Petersburg,
Minsk, Petrozavodsk, Bobruisk, and Dvinsk. But his main place of
stay was Riga. And Lenin’s letters came to his Riga address. On Dec-
ember 3, 1904, Lenin wrote from Paris:

“Dear friend, I received news of Martyn Nikolayevich’s arrival (I
have not seen him myself), from which I infer that things are in a bad
way. The Bolsheviks in Russia and those abroad are at sixes and sevens
again. From three years’ experience I know that such disunity can do
enormous damage to our cause...”

In another letter, Lenin asked Litvinov (as he also did in letters
to Alexander Bogdanov 1 6 and Rosalia Zemlyachka 1 7 ) to start a
Bolshevik newspaper in Russia, stop the dissent among Bolsheviks,
and settle a few other things.

Soon, one more letter arrived. Lenin asked Litvinov to make
haste. He wanted swift, resolute action. And the Bolshevik centre,
that is, Litvinov and his comrades, accomplished the seemingly im-
possible. At that moment, the Mensheviks held the upper hand
in the northern branches of the RSDLP. Yet the centre managed to
secure a Bolshevik majority. In mid-December, it sent the minutes of
a northern regional conference held that month in Kolpino near St.
Petersburg to Lenin in Geneva. At that conference, the organisation
of the centre was, in effect, completed. And on December 26, Lenin
posted an elated reply to Rosalia Zemlyachka:

“Hurrah! You’ve done a splendid job... A conference like that is
hard to control in Russian conditions. But you’ve done well. The im-
portance of this is enormous.” At once, Lenin sent specific instruc-
tions: “Once again make a round of the committees of the South
(and the Volga), stressing the importance of giving every support to
the newspaper Vperyod”.

Transportation, he wrote, would be taken care of so long as there
was Litvinov. But the latter should teach others the tricks of his trade
in case of arrest.

And one more letter from Lenin, a reply to Litvinov’s letter
.<-01072

briefing Lenin on his work in various parts of Russia and on the ac-
cord to unite local Bolshevik committees. Here it is:

Dear friend, I hasten to reply to your letter, which pleased me
very, very much. You are a thousand times right that we must act
vigorously, in a revolutionary way, and strike the iron while it’s
hot. I agree, too, it is the Bolshevik committees that must be united...
Finally, you are a thousand times right in that we must act openly.”

Lenin let Litvinov know that seven people had been recommended
to the Bolshevik centre, including four who were abroad, namely,
Lenin, Vorovsky, 3 8 Lunacharsky, 1 9 and Olminsky. 20 He listed
Litvinov second, adding that Odessa and St. Petersburg had been
informed.

Again, Litvinov was en route. He visited the Volga country, as
Lenin had asked, made his appearance in Moscow, then in the Baltic
states, and finally headed for St. Petersburg. And wherever he went,
he secured support for the Bolshevik plan of calling the Third Con-
gress. So that Litvinov’s name will always be remembered among
those of other Leninists who had borne the brunt of the struggle
against the Mensheviks.

News of the January 9, 1905 massacre 21 outside the Winter
Palace in St. Petersburg reached Litvinov when he was en route.
At once, he returned to Riga. The city was in ferment. There was
an enormous demonstration on January 13. Tens of thousands went
into the streets. And, as in St. Petersburg, the gendarmes opened fire.
Seventy people were shot dead near the Railway Bridge. And a
general strike erupted.

The bloody events in St. Petersburg and Riga prompted the Latvian
Social-Democratic Labour Party to renounce its national isolation,
and to move closer to the RSDLP. Preparations began in Riga for
the Third Party Congress. Litvinov was deeply involved.

The centre was making visible headway. By the end of January,
messages in support of holding the Third Congress came from all
parts of Russia. And Litvinov sent Lenin a letter expounding the Riga
Committee’s proposals concerning the draft documents. “I’m com-
municating with you on behalf of the centre,” he wrote. “The Decla-
ration has been drawn up. It docs not differ from the draft in prin-
ciple. There was an argument about having one centre: not much
significance was attached to the issue. My viewpoint is clear from the
attached article. There are many more changes in the Draft of the
Rules. In Point 1 the following bodies are listed as having been con-
stituted by the Congress: Council, Central Committee, Central Organ,
and the League. Point 2 lists eight new committees with voting rights.

Points 3 and 4 are unaltered, Point 5 has been thrown out, and Points
6 and 7 are the same as before... Since the changes are considerable,
we’ve decided you must be asked. If you accept them, cable.- safe and
sound. The Declaration has been posted to you. The telegram should
best be sent from Germany.”

Lenin replied promptly. Thereupon, the Riga branch of the RSDLP
elected Maxim Litvinov its delegate to the congress. At the end of
March he went abroad.

The Third Congress was to have been held in Copenhagen, and
Litvinov with a group of other delegates headed for the Danish
capital. Lenin came to Copenhagen from Geneva. He had a conference
with delegates who were members of the Bolshevik centre. They
made brief reports. Litvinov reported on the situation in the North-
Western Committee.

It was more than a year since he had left Switz.erland and had not
seen Lenin. As usual, Lenin had a thousand questions about the situa-
tion at home, about the people, and about the mood in the Party
branches. He examined his associates. How young all of them were!
Litvinov was only 28, yet had done so much. Lenin took notes, to
be used in his report at the congress.

But the congress could not be held in Copenhagen. The tsarist
police, which had contacted the Danish government, was making
trouble. The authorities demanded that the Russian revolutionaries
should leave the city. They decided to go to Malmo in Sweden, but
this plan fell through as well: the Russian police prevailed on the
Swedish authorities to close Malmo to them. But a way out was
found. Litvinov charted a steamer, and all the 38 Bolsheviks, with
Lenin at their head, sailed for London. Years later, Litvinov would
write in the Pravda:

“In London, too, we had had to take precautions so as not to
attract the attention of the local authorities. A different place was
picked for each sitting. It was only thanks to these stratagems that
we made sure of the delegates’ safe return to Russia.”

The Third (London) Congress of the RSDLP took place when the
revolutionary sentiment in Russia was in high tide. After the peaceful
procession in St. Petersburg was fired upon, strikes broke out all
over the country. It was therefore up to the congress to work out the
right tactics. Overthrow of tsarism and bourgeois-democratic revolu-
tion with hegemony of the working class in alliance with all peasants,
was defined as the immediate objective. The congress raised the
question of an armed uprising. Two reports were heard, that of Luna-
charsky and Bogdanov. A heated debate ensued. Not all delegates

were aware of its importance, but accepted Lenin’s resolution:

“The Third Congress of the RSDLP acknowledges that the objec-
tive of organising the proletariat for direct struggle against the autoc-
racy by means of an armed uprising is one of the chief and one of
the most urgent of the Party’s tasks at the present revolutionary
moment.”

The Congress instructed all Party branches to arm the proletariat.
Lenin spoke of a provisional revolutionary government, of setting up
a revolutionary-democratic dictatorship of the proletariat and peasan-
try, with the future government being its executive body.

Before leaving for home, on April 27, the delegates visited Highgate
Cemetery: a silent little band, heads bared, 38 Russian revolutiona-
ries with Lenin in the lead crowded round the grave of Karl Marx.

The planned armed uprising created enormous problems, and the
biggest of all was where to obtain arms. This was practically impos-
sible in Russia. The only way was to buy arms abroad.

Even before the 1 hird Congress, the Bolsheviks had ordered arms
in London. The Central Committee instructed Litvinov to receive
and ship them to Russia. He had his hands full throughout the spring
of 1905, renewing old routes. When the summer began he left for
Berlin.

Lenin’s phrase, “transportation would be taken care of, so long as
there was Litvinov ’, in his letter to Rosalia Zemlyachka, was per-
fectly correct. For two years, Litvinov had supervised the transporta-
tion of the Iskra and other literature to Russia. And the Central Com-
mittee, including Lenin, was pleased with the job he had done.

After the Third Congress, transportation became all-important.
Berlin, where the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks had a common transport
group, was a major point of transit for literature, and often also for
arms, going to Russia. After the Second Congress, however, the Men-
sheviks had seized control of the transport group. It became more
difficult to send Bolshevik literature to Russia. Lenin suggested that
Litvinov should go to Berlin without delay and take over the Party’s
transport office there.

Letters, coded notes, and other documents from the Party archives
have enabled me to trace how Litvinov fulfilled Lenin’s instructions.
Again, we see Litvinov resolute, firm, persevering.

The man in charge of the transport office in Berlin was Vladimir
Kopp, a Menshevik. (Fifteen years later, Deputy People’s Commissar
for Foreign Affairs Maxim Litvinov and member of the Foreign Com-
missariat s Collegium Vladimir Kopp would work together on many
foreign policy issues.) Litvinov arrived in Berlin and went into action

immediately. By virtue of the powers that the Central Committee
had given him, he appointed Bolshevik Osip Pyatnitsky 22 (who
would become one of the most prominent Party and Comintern per-
sonalities) in place of a Menshevik, to take charge of the central litera-
ture stores.

On June 1, 1905, Litvinov wrote Kopp a note: “The literature
that you are to send to Russia will be supplied by Comrade Pyat-
nitsky, whom I have put in charge of our Party’s Berlin stores.”

Kopp declared that he did not recognise Pyatnitsky’s appointment.
So, Litvinov sent him another note:

“Dear comrade, I have just received your Express-Brief. It sur-
prised me. Evidently, we shall have to discuss the matter eye to eye.
Will come to see you tomorrow morning at eleven.”

And to make assurance doubly sure, Litvinov added: “I have
already written you today about Pyatnitsky’s appointment as chief of
stores.”

What happened in the next three days is reflected in Kopp’s
panic-stricken letter to Litvinov. He attached so much importance to
it that he even noted the time it was sent: four in the afternoon on
June 14, 1905. Kopp wrote:

“I have just been informed that the door to the stores of which
we are jointly in charge with Pyatnitsky, has a new lock. I assume
that this was done by one of your friends, and since I consider it a
gross violation of our rights, as guaranteed in Note 1 to Paragraph 1
of our agreement with the Central Committee, I beg you to have the
lock removed as quickly as possible...”

Kopp’s letter need not be quoted in full. What is important were
the events that followed. Litvinov took charge of the stores and sent
large shipments of Bolshevik literature to Russia. A few days later,
however, he had to go to Geneva, and the Mensheviks took advantage
of his absence to conclude an accord with Leonid Krasin, 23 a member
of the Party’s Central Committee. The accord worked against the
interests of the Bolsheviks. Krasin had been misled by the Mensheviks,
and signed it.

The story reached Lenin’s cars in considerably distorted shape.
The Mensheviks raised a row, charging Litvinov with unilateral action.
Lenin asked Litvinov for an explanation. On June 19-20, Litvinov
wrote this letter to Lenin:

“You should not be angry with me. I have spoken with Krasin.
He wanted to go and see Kopp. But I asked him to find out if the
man would be staying in the Party. As for settling relations between
the Berlin transport office and the Central Committee, and appointing
People to it— Krasin has left all that to me. How could 1 have known

that Krasin would conclude an accord without my knowledge... The
draft of the accord was drawn up by Postolovsky, who didn’t say a
word about it to me. I can barely keep up with all the stupidities. I
had had to hurry to Geneva to draft routes for our comrades, but I
didn’t think I’d have to hurry back to Berlin.”

Litvinov said he would be leaving within 30 minutes, and added
he would write a letter to Krasin on the way. His destination was
Tilsit, where, he hoped, the Germans would agree to deal with the
Bolsheviks. In that case, he added, Kopp would be dropped comlete-
ly. He also wrote that he did not think the deal with the rifles would
come through. The Germans had warned him against receiving them
through Swiss customs.

On June 22, Litvinov arrived in Tilsit. At night, in the Kaiserhof, a
second-rate hotel, he wrote a long letter to Krasin, censuring his ac-
cord with the Mensheviks and asking for it to be scrapped at once.

“I was surprised when I learned about your accord with Kopp,”
he wrote. “I am sure, it would never have come about if you had
asked my opinion. I find it deleterious for the Central Committee and
the Party... Kopp insists that the Central Committee should have no
other transport office. Consequently, contacts that are so far known
only to me or Pyatnitsky, and those I shall make in future, will be
known to the whole transport office. This would be a restraint upon
the Central Committee; the supply of literature from abroad would
depend on the goodwill of people who have betrayed our confidence
time and again in the past.”

The accord with the Mensheviks was torn up. Krasin let Lenin
know that Litvinov had been right. Now the Berlin transport office
was in Litvinov’s hands. Coping with unpredictable obstacles, the
Bolsheviks managed to send literature and arms to Russia on a practi-
cally regular basis.

The tide of revolution in Russia was rising. The Central Committee
instructed Litvinov to leave the Berlin transport office in Pyatnitsky’s
charge, and go to Russia at once. At the end of the summer he was
back in Riga.

After the disturbances, the city was like a seething cauldron. The
police had run amuck. Arrests followed in quick succession. A group
of detained Latvian Party members faced a death sentence for throw-
ing bombs on May 1 and 2. There was to be a court-martial, and time
was running short. In the early morning hours of September 7, Lat-
vian militants attacked the Riga prison to rescue their comrades.

Litvinov was elsewhere on the Baltic coast, preparing squads for
the planned uprising. In late September, he received a letter from

Lenin requesting details about the Riga events. It was a troubled let-
ter. Lenin and the Central Committee were against sporadic and spon-
taneous outbursts. They held rightly that this only dispersed strength
and complicated preparations for a massive proletarian armed action.
Litvinov replied:

“The attack on the prison was most probably organised by the
Letts or the Federative Committee (Letts plus the Bundites). Our
workers, too, were toying with a plan of freeing Mark and George.
But George is detained in some police station, and I think, therefore,
that this is not our affair. Menshevik involvement in a rescue attempt
is still less likely. You can be sure of one thing; the Socialist-Revolu-
tionaries 24 had nothing to do with it: there are none of them in Riga.
In short, I am almost sure that the thing was organised by the Letts,
and have cabled you to that effect. Out of the attackers, two were
apprehended, and as many prisoners were freed. The success was
therefore partial. By the way, the editors of Proletary show too much
faith in the foreign press. In one of their latest issues— the twelfth or
the thirteenth — they reproduced the Lokal anzieger report about a
clash with the troops in Riga causing a large number of casualties,
dead and wounded. The report is completely groundless. Best regards,
Phoenix.” 2 5

Multiplying revolutionary actions in St. Petersburg and Moscow,
and the events in Riga and other Russian cities, showed that the
resolution of the London RSDI.P Congress on supplying workers with
arms had been most timely. Still, arms were scarce. Litvinov was
on pins and needles, awaiting transports of machine-guns and rifles
from Germany. But they were like a drop in the ocean. He needed
money to buy more arms. The Party’s cashbox, however, was empty.
In despair, Litvinov wrote to Lenin on September 26, 1905. He wrote
that the routes of the year before could be effectively used to ship
arms. He said he was ready to sell his soul to the devil to obtain the
requisite filthy lucre. “I can buy Brownings in Russia,” he went on,
“but what we need is rifles, especially the Mauser type...”

In September, Litvinov went to St. Petersburg to obtain arms.
But his activity was cut short. In November 1905, Lenin returned to
Russia and plunged at once into Party work. Taking first things first,
he held a conference with the Bolshevik part of the staff of the news-
paper Novaya Zhizn. Litvinov had been in charge of the paper’s
administrative affairs. So let Litvinov tell us about it himself in one
of his few records:

“In early November 1905, I received Krasin’s offer to set up a
legal Social-Democratic newspaper, Novaya Zhizn. I had come to
St. Petersburg from Riga and lived there with a passport issued in the

name of Ludwig Nitz, because I mistrusted the October amnesty.
Neither was I sure that the amnesty applied to me, because the police
held me responsible for beating up a guard during my prison escape
in Kiev. An undergrounder as publisher of a large daily! A savoury
joke. In the past, I have had to do with underground printing plants
and had been in charge of the lskra printshop and distribution in
Geneva. It was a tempting offer therefore to apply myself to set-
ting up the first legal Social-Democratic newspaper. I accepted it. The
same offer had been made a few days before to Isidore Gukovsky.
But he wasn’t making out too well, and it was decided to appoint
him associate editor, and to let me handle the administrative end.

“Obtaining a license for the paper would have taken too long. So
we made use of the one already issued to poet Minsky, who, as a
result, figured as the editor-in-chief. We also needed someone to be
the paper’s official publisher, and picked Maria Andreyeva. 26 Writer
Maxim Gorky made himself responsible for funding the paper.

“I left for Moscow at once to discuss finances with Gorky, and to
get a power-of-attorncy from Andreyeva. On November 8, l was or-
dered to put out the first issue of the paper the following day. Tenta-
tive arrangements were made with the Narodnaya Polza printing plant.
We leased a place on Nevsky Prospekt for our offices. But we had
neither furniture, nor a staff, nor distribution facilities— nothing at
all. Out of the furniture, we bought the first things we could lay
our hands on. The staff was picked among members of our district
branches, and distribution was entrusted to bookbinder Kaplan, a
Party member, who, I regret to say, failed to cope with the job.

“The administration consisted of Krasin, Gukovsky, and me.

“The workers and the general public in St. Petersburg waited
impatiently for the first issue of Novaya zhizn, the first legal Social-
Democratic newspaper. Their impatience increased when we an-
nounced that a free supplement, the Party’s programme, would go
with it. Our Nevsky Prospekt office was besieged by people from the
early morning. The printing plant was slow and produced only about
15,000 copies during the night. They were literally torn out of the
hands of our messengers as they carried them to our office. So the
printing continued all day, and copies were handed out as soon as
they reached the office.

“In this commotion we could not organise any street sales. Workers
from the city’s outlying districts sent messengers to pick up bundles
of papers at our Nevsky office. The same occurred in the next few
days. The printshop was unable to meet the demand. Distribution was
still poorly arranged, and subscribers in the provinces, with the sole
exception of Moscow, got none of the first issues. People applied for

subscriptions by the thousands every day. Postal remittances arrived
in basketfuls. Telegrams came from the provinces, pleading for papers.
Lots of people did not know’ the price of a subscription, and remitted
hundreds of roubles by telegraph, saying they wanted the paper at
any price.

“The office staff consisted mainly of Party members who knew
next to nothing about newspaper techniques. As a result, efficiency
was low. We suffered most of all from the ineffectiveness of the distrib-
utor. I worked 20 hours a day, sometimes 24. Within 10 days, how-
ever, we managed to get a new, additional printshop, to arrange for
better distribution, to recruit a few experienced people from other
papers, and to shuffle the office staff. We signed contracts with the
vendors’ cooperative, registered the paper at the post-office, organised
special squads to deliver the paper to the working-class districts, and
farmed out an advertising concession.

“The apparatus kept limping along. The paper often came out too
late for the departing mail train because wc had it printed in two
printshops— the outside sheet in one, and the inside sheet in the
other. As a result, we were not able to cope with the ever increasing
demand. The post-office, too, created problems: bundles of newspa-
pers piled up at railway stations for days. Besides, subscribers com-
plained that postal employees and postmen appropriated copies of
the newspaper to read.

“In the provinces, people formed groups to subscribe collectively.
Profiteers pushed the paper’s price up to a rouble and more. Within a
month, however, nearly all the faults were remedied and the staff
began ticking like clock-work— so much so that when a conference
of St. Petersburg newspaper administrators was called to work out
tactics against the postal authorities, the police, and profiteering
vendors, I was chosen its standing chairman. This, I should say, was
a tribute to the way our paper was run....

“Soon, the paper became the centre of Party life in St. Petersburg.
Party conferences, meetings, rendezvous, and the like, were held in
our editorial offices. The place was becoming crowded, and we moved
to new premises on Troitskaya Street.

“Workers, peasants, and townsmen came to us with grievances;
officials, army officers, even policemen came to confess past deeds
and declare their sympathy for the Social-Democrats. Indeed, 1 was
warned in advance of the raid on the St. Petersburg Soviet of Workers’
Deputies early that morning by a Guards officer who came to our of-
fice in person.”

Lenin’s arrival in St. Petersburg led to considerable changes in the
make-up of the editorial staff. He simply would not suffer the in-

fluence that the group led by Minsky, who was the paper’s formal
owner, tried to exercise. His resolution paid off: the editorial offices
were placed completely under Central Committee control. Lenin him-
self took a most active part in putting out the paper, and was often
seen at the printshop late at night, looking through the pageproofs.

After the paper printed the “Manifesto”, Litvinov’s record goes
on, the authorities closed it. The order reached the printshop late at
night and, with the consent of the compositors and printers, it was
decided to put out the last issue of the paper in spite of the ban. The
printshop’s administration protested, and was locked up in one of
the rooms to prevent it from doing any mischief. The issue was not
sent to the distribution office but directly to the workers’ districts.
In the morning, the police faced a fait accompli.

The Nevsky Prospekt office was kept open for a while to wind up
affairs.

“When I came there once,” Litvinov noted in his records, “the
doorman whispered that a detective wanted to see me. I asked what
the man wished. The doorman said he wished to ask whether any of
the people on the list he had left with the doorman had been on our
staff. I glanced at the note and saw my real name on it, and also the
real name of our semi-legal employee named Mouse (Lalayants), and
the name of my secretary, Yelena Smitten. Evidently, the police had
not yet identified me, and was planning to ask me about myself. I
did not want to push my luck, and told the doorman to send the de-
tective up if he came. In fact, however, I went to my office to pick
up all my papers, and departed by the back door. A few days later,

I left St. Petersburg. The papers reported that the police had searched
our offices and claimed to have found arms. Andreyeva, Gukovsky,
and I were to be put on trial. If I remember rightly, Andreyeva and
Gukovsky were summoned to court, while the case against me was
suspended.”

Naturally, Litvinov did not know what measures the police was
taking to apprehend him. It is all down in the police records. Lit-
vinov’s traces were spotted in St. Petersburg, though the police failed
to identify Ludwig Nitz as Litvinov. It was not until January 4, 1906,
when Novaya Zbizn was already banned, that the police sent a secret
circular (No. 171) to the chief of the St. Petersburg special branch,
saying that Max Wallach was in St. Petersburg and was employed at
Nasba Zbizn. Some police officer later crossed out the word Nasba,
and wrote in Novaya.

But there was no arrest. Frightened out of its wits by the prospect
of revolution, the tsarist government was pulling its punches, which
enabled Litvinov to evade capture.

Reaction went on the rampage all over Russia in early 1906. Years
later, Litvinov recollected: “The first Soviet of Workers’ Deputies
in St. Petersburg was crushed, an armed rising in Moscow was sup-
pressed, legal Social-Democratic newspapers were closed down... The
Mensheviks rolled up their banner in haste and proclaimed the end of
the first revolution, dampening the revolutionary spirit of the proleta-
riat and preparing the Party’s liquidation. Lenin’s Bolshevik Party,
however, did not abandon stations. It encouraged revolutionaries to
prepare for a new attack on the autocracy.”

But there had to be arms. Local Bolshevik organisations asked for
them. Those in the Transcau casus asked for them. Messengers arrived
from Tiflis in the autumn of 1905. They handed over 200,000 roubles
and asked the Central Committee to buy arms abroad. The Central
Committee agreed, and at once the question arose of who to send
on this dangerous mission.

After the banning of Novaya Zbizn, Litvinov asked the Central
Committee for a new assignment. Krasin suggested two things: either
Litvinov should accompany Maxim Gorky to the United States as
organiser of his lecture tour, proceeds from which would go to the
Party cashbox, or he could take on the job of buying arms for Bol-
shevik organisations in the Transcaucasus and elsewhere.

Litvinov turned down the trip to the United States, which, he
foresaw, would be little more than a joy-ride. He could not leave
Russia, where things were coming to a boil. He chose to organise the
arms transports. That was more to his taste. And that brings us to
one of the most brilliant chapters in Litvinov’s pre-October 1917
biography.

Chapter 3

THE GUN-RUNNER

Some Russian emigrant opened an office in a quiet Paris street in
early 1906. Agents of the tsarist police took due notice. They wanted
to know who this emigrant was, what he was doing, and why he had
opened the office. Soon, a coded telegram to St. Petersburg said the
office belonged to a man named Lelkov, and that he was probably
none other than Litvinov. The office, they figured, was a front, and
there was evidence that Lelkov- Litvinov was nursing some dangerous
plan against the Russian Empire.

They were not far wrong: under the signboard of a Paris office,
Litvinov set out to place orders with European arms manufacturers.
He decided to order several thousand Mauser and Mannlicher rifles,
the requisite number of cartridges, and also some machine-guns and
various small arms. Danish machine-guns were the most portable in
those days. The Danes accepted his order and said a Danish army of-
ficer would come to Paris in a few days with samples of the machine-
guns for testing.

Litvinov wondered what guise to assume? Could he admit to
being a Russian revolutionary? No, he would say he was an army
officer from Ecuador. Latin American countries were at each other’s
throats fairly often, and sent people to Europe to buy arms. An of-
ficer of the Ecuador army would not arouse suspicion and, indeed,
the contact with the Danish officer passed off very well.

Litvinov travelled all over Europe throughout the summer of
1906, ordering arms in Brussels, Vienna, Karlsruhe, Hamburg, Berlin,
the Hague, and Liege.

Branches of the Paris office were required in other European
cities. One such branch was set up in Zurich. One more was opened in
Liege, with Boris Stomoniakov, a Bulgarian, at its head. More branches
were established elsewhere. Rosalia Dudovskaya was helping Litvinov
at the time, and was in constant touch with him by mail.

Here is a letter from Litvinov in Moscow, dated February 27,
1906, to Dudovskaya in Paris:

“As I expected, I landed up with the police. But they held me for

a few hours only. Finally, I managed to get out of St. Petersburg,
and have come to Moscow. Today, I am going to set out for the West.
If nothing happens at Rubakin’s, I may be in Berlin by Saturday.
Will write you from there.”

Who this Rubakin was, I shall relate a bit later.

Another of Litvinov’s letters, this time from Sofia to Paris, dated
July 19, 1906:

“Have just come to Bulgaria. The policemen, gendarmes, and of-
ficers wear Russian uniforms. Passports are checked at border cros-
sings. The roads are as badly tended as ours. At times it is as though
I am in Smolensk, Pskov, or the like. Everything is like home, with
a few eastern particulars added. Have seen no one so far, and have no
idea how long I’ll be stuck here.”

One more letter from Sofia to Paris a week later:

“Have just received your registered letter. Found the cheque that
I had asked you about in yesterday’s letter. Don’t inquire at the bank.
Leave the money there for the time being. I’ll let you know in a few
days where to send it.”

Litvinov’s next letter was from Vienna to Paris, dated July 28,
1906. Litvinov put down the time he wrote it: 7 p.m.

“I’m on pins and needles, waiting impatiently for your telegram...
My assumptions have completely paralysed further action. I’m wait-
ing. I’ve just received your Express-Brief.”

And one more letter from Vienna to Genoa:

“I’m approaching longed-for Karlsruhe at full speed, cutting down
on my stop-overs in Berne and Berlin... I have let you know the ad-
dress. You can write to me through the Small One.” (Evidently, the
reference is to Boris Stomoniakov.— Z.S. )

Litvinov’s wholly respectable appearance and excellent knowledge
of languages gave him access to arms producers. He placed his order
for Mausers at Belgian plants and for cartridges for them at the
Deutsche Waffenfabrik in Karlsruhe. In Trieste, he managed to buy
Mannlicher rifles that some country had ordered and then rejected.
The cartridges for them were ordered at the big Austrian arms manu-
facturing firm Styer, where he identified himself as representing a
Belgian firm. This created no suspicions. The Belgian arms manufac-
turers had a good reputation all over Europe, and their “representa-
tive” spoke such excellent French, and was so charming, that the
Austrians were overwhelmed.

In Karlsruhe, when ordering cartridges for Mauser rifles, Litvinov
landed in a situation that smacked of an adventure novel.

Later, Litvinov recollected:

“The director of the plant informed me that a Russian govern-

ment commission had also come to Karlsruhe, and suggested that 1
accompany him to meet the commission and then go to the range
for trials. I had no choice but to accept. I was introduced to the
Russian officers, and even made friends with them for a few hours.
They gave me highly competent advice when testing cartridges, with
the result that I rejected a few cases.”

After the trials at the range, the lot of them went to a beer hall,
where they slapped each other’s backs and paid each other compli-
ments. In the end, the officers invited Litvinov to visit Russia. He
thanked them politely and promised to come.

But shipping arms to Russia was still a long way off. Many were
the dangers and obstacles. The best of Russia’s policemen, the most
experienced police spies abroad, police residents in Paris, the Balkans,
and elsewhere had been alerted. They were ordered to prevent the
shipment of Bolshevik arms to Russia.

A brief for top police officers based on the reports of Harting,
the chief Russian police spy abroad, dated March 9, 1906, said:

‘‘Meyer Wallach, alias Litvinov, alias helix, alias Papasha, has
recently paid a short visit to Berlin en route from St. Petersburg,
lie has instructions to buy large quantities of arms (revolvers, cart-
ridges, rifles, machine-guns, and the like) and arrange for their ship-
ment to Russia. Another Social-Democrat, Hermann, alias Victor,
has arrived from Helsingfors to assist him, and Pyotr Germogenovich
Smidovich, alias Vassily Ivanovich Chervinsky, alias Matryona, is ex-
pected in a few' days. The latter is to settle in a convenient port (our
agents will soon find out what port) to arrange arms shipments.

‘‘They intend to purchase a large quantity of bomb detonators.
Those already purchased are intact in St. Petersburg.

‘‘Wallach went from Berlin to Karlsruhe to see his brother and to
call at the Bergmann factory, which is filling an order for machine-
guns and carbines. At present, Wallach is in Paris, the centre for his
gun-running. The money, on the other hand, is to be kept in Berlin.
Thirty-five thousand roubles are expected to arrive from St. Peters-
burg this week. The recipients are afraid the big sums sent from Rus-
sia may be confiscated in connection with the circular on ‘doubtful’
money. Agents will soon know the addresses to which money is remit-
ted from Russia for the Social-Democratic Party.”

Another special brief (No. 8609) on Litvinov was issued on June 5,
1906:

“The revolutionary Meyer Wallach, who is running arms to Black
Sea and Baltic ports, is at present in Marseilles. He is being helped by
members of the Latvian Revolutionary Group, who are sending small
lots of arms to the Baltic countries from North German ports.”

The Russian secret police alerted all its spies in Europe, and picked
up some vital information. It learned, for example, that a member of
the Party’s Central Committee known as Nikitich had transferred
10,000 roubles from St. Petersburg to Paris through the Credit Lyon-
nais, and that another 90,000 roubles had been remitted from Russia
some time before: all this money to be paid for arms bought by
Litvinov.

Money to buy arms came not only from the Party’s Transcauca-
sian branch. Workers in Russia collected large sums, with 20,000
roubles going to Litvinov in Paris. A considerable contribution was
made by Maxim Gorky.

Russian police spy Harting reported that he had secretly perused
some of Litvinov’s letters, and discovered that the money from St.
Petersburg was being sent by a certain Roman Semyonovich Malkin
domiciled at 61 Bolshaya Pushkarskaya and a Yekaterina Fyodorov-
na von Krit, living in Mustomiakki, a station on the Finnish Railway.

Among others, Harting intercepted and decoded Litvinov’s letter
from Paris to the Party’s Central Committee in St. Petersburg. The
letter read:

“Dear friends, I’ll try to answer your questions:

“1) The Germans were good enough to contribute 10,000 marks,
which they handed to a comrade (Kohn, German Social-Democrat, a
lawyer) whom Deutsch had authorised. In a few days, this money
will be passed on to Ab-v (Roman). Avoid sending money to and fro.
I suggest we keep this money, while you take the same amount out
of the Caucasian money.

“2) Gorky has left a few days ago for a short vacation in Switzer-
land.

“3) Missed the Engineer* while he was here... As soon as G. re-
turns, I’ll go to Zurich to negotiate with the Engineer. In the mean-
time, I’ve examined a variety of arms systems and checked their
prices... It will not be difficult to buy arms... They could be trans-
ported via Bulgaria with the assistance of the Macedonians.

“About 2,000 francs arc left over from the sale of property, and
about 5,000 from the proceeds for Gorky’s lectures. He wouldn’t
take anything out of this money, and lived on his own cash.”

Surprisingly, in August 1906, the police had no inkling that in
Russia all threads related to the arms running led to Krasin. Nor did
the police know that Ludwig Martens, who was busy making a rapid-
action portable machine-gun he had himself invented, was living in
Zurich. The Bolsheviks wanted the machine-gun for themselves, and

* Engineer— code-name of Ludwig Martens.

Litvinov visited Martens in Zurich, where they tested the new weapon.
Owing to technical faults, the idea was dropped. Instead, Martens
helped assemble machine-guns out of spare parts Litvinov had bought
in different countries.

Now that he had ordered the desired amount of arms, Litvinov
tackled a no less important task: that of getting the arms to one of the
ports for shipment to Russia.

But what port to choose?

Russian police spies were on the lookout in all European ports.
Many of them stayed there almost permanently in the hope of dis-
covering how the arms shipments would go. They knew the tentative
routes: via Finland by steamer, via America, via Germany, and by sea
to Odessa. One police report said the revolutionaries had meant to
send the arms via Finland, but changed their minds on account of
rumours that troops there were being reinforced. They picked Amer-
ica, where they would buy arms and send them to Japan and thence
to Siberia. The report said a man named Herman* would accompany
Gorky for this purpose during the latter’s tour of America. It said the
revolutionaries counted on Germany least of all, because it was prac-
tically impossible to send arms across the border by rail. If they did
use the German route, they would try and cross the border with the
help of professional smugglers. The crossings would be organised by
those residing in Berlin— a Lett named Hoffmann, whose identity
the spy in question was trying to determine, and a Finn called Karl
Berg, who passed himself off as a merchant with extensive connections
and was in fact a member of the Red Guard.

Police spies had found out, too, that large amounts of arms were
cached in St. Petersburg, but that many of the rifles were useless be-
cause they had no cartridges, while the available large lots of cart-
ridges were not usable with any of the available rifles. They claimed
that a stolen large-calibre gun was also cached in St. Petersburg.

The assumptions of the police spies were inaccurate. Litvinov want-
ed a port that was maximally close to the Caucasus, and was looking
for a steamer he could charter, and a captain who’d agree to transfer
his cargo of arms at night in the open sea into feluccas near Batum. It
was incredibly difficult to keep the shipment secret, to conceal it
from police spies, and to lull the suspicions of the customs authorities.
For the customs in any port of the world always wanted to know the
destination of every departing ship and what cargo it was carrying.

Litvinov considered almost all the ports of Holland, Belgium,

* The reference is evidently to Leonid Krasin.

France, Italy, and Austria-Hungary. He sought the advice of friends
in the local socialist parties and the trade unions. All of them said
the plan was sure to fail. So, after much reflection, he decided to con-
centrate the arms in the Bulgarian port of Varna, and ship it from
there to Russia.

Negotiations began. Litvinov looked for contacts in the Bulgarian
government. He assured the Bulgarians that the arms were intended
for Armenians, to be used against their Turkish oppressors. The idea
appealed to the Bulgarians, but they were hesitant. Meanwhile,
Litvinov made contact with a Macedonian revolutionary, Tiufen-
chiev, a man of extraordinary courage but not, as Litvinov later found
out, too discriminating in his choice of methods. Tiufenchiev asked
for an exorbitant sum of money, saying he had to pay others, and
so on.

Though he tried, Tiufenchiev could not do very much. They had
to have the backing of someone with pull in the government. Or the
operation would fail. So Litvinov took a desperate step. He returned
to Paris and obtained an audience with General Savov, the Bulgarian
war minister. No one knows what was said at the interview. But Savov
promised to help. The arms were sent to Varna in sealed boxcars. All
Litvinov had to do now was either to charter or to buy a ship.

“I decided to buy a boat and get a dependable crew in Russia,”
Litvinov recollected. “A modest-sized yacht was bought in Fiumc for
the relatively moderate sum of 30,000 francs. It had crossed from
America to Europe and was quite big enough to serve our purpose.”

The yacht was overhauled, adapted to carry cargo, and sent to
Varna with its old crew.

“In Varna everything was ready for sailing in July or August,”
Litvinov recalled. “And I’m sure everything would have gone off
splendidly if we had managed to sail at once. But we had money
trouble.”

On September 11, 1906, a Russian police spy sent an urgent mes-
sage to his superiors. His assignment was in London, but whether he
despatched his top secret report from the British capital or from
Berlin it is now impossible to establish.

“Litvinov is here,” he reported. “He has had a misunderstanding
with the Central Committee. The latter had spent 40,000 roubles and
refuses to repay them. Litvinov sent two Georgians to the CC to
demand that it return the money or they would bump off someone
of the CC. The Georgians are furious. Most likely, they’ll get the
money, but so far there’s a delay.”

The police spy went out of his way to get more details, but in vain. He
did not know of the conflict between Litvinov and the Mensheviks.

4-01072

The arms shipment form Varna to Batum was held up. And here
begins the most dramatic part of the tale.

Litvinov had received his instructions to organise arms transports
in the beginning of 1906. The assignment was given him by the Bol-
shevik Central Committee. But while Litvinov was in Paris, placing
orders for arms, the Fourth Unity Congress of the RSDLP gathered
in Stockholm at the end of April 1906. Lenin had worked out the
Bolshevik platform some months before, in February 1906. The re-
solutions drafted by the Bolsheviks and Lenin, called for a new revolu-
tionary onslaught against the autocracy. The Mensheviks countered
with a tactical platform that, in substance, renounced revolutionary
forms of struggle. And they had more voting delegates than the Bol-
sheviks: 62 against the Bolsheviks’ 46.

Though, in name, the Stockholm Congress had unified the Party,
unity was lacking.

On learning that the majority in the new Central Committee was
Menshevik, Litvinov asked to be relieved of his mission. For arms
would not be needed if the CC rejected armed struggle. But the CC
turned down his request.

I-et Litvinov tell us w'hy in his own words:

“Great was my surprise when the new CC, evidently under pres-
sure of the Transcaucasian branch, reaffirmed my mandate and sug-
gested that I complete my job. But though it said 1 should carry on,
it cut off all assistance. I had not been provident, and had not trans-
ferred the money that the Caucasian comrades had placed at my
disposal. I used to get the money from the Central Committee when
I needed it.

“Prior to the Stockholm Congress, my financial requests were
always met promptly. I was able to pay all bills, consolidating my
own position and winning the confidence of the businessmen I dealt
with. But after the Central Committee fell into Menshevik hands,
there were delays. Nor did they reply promptly to my telegrams and
letters. My requests for money fell on deaf ears. 1 protested. 1 cursed.
1 pointed out that success depended on timely shipment of arms
before the Black Sea storms in autumn. The situation was disastrous,
and, seeing that telegrams and letters had no effect, 1 was compelled
to go to St. Petersburg myself.”

Litvinov left for Russia at the end of September 1906. From Paris
he headed for Berlin, and from Berlin to St. Petersburg. He did not
know that a Russian police spy in Paris had wired St. Petersburg
(despatch No. 81/1544) that Litvinov, posing as Gustav Graf, a
Dresden merchant, would be going to Russia via Berlin.

The developments were swift. Coded police messages to St. Pcters-

burg, Warsaw, Wilno, and other cities traced Litvinov’s itinerary. The
first such message, No. 18689, reached St. Petersburg on October 9.
It said Litvinov had crossed the border at Alcksandrovo en route to
St. Petersburg, carrying the passport of a Gustav Graf of Dresden.
The message also said the gendarmerie was keeping an eye on him.

On the following day, that is, October 10, an urgent message
reached the chief of police in Warsaw. Let me cite it in full, because,
among other things, it shows why Gustav Graf, whom the police knew
to be Litvinov, had not been arrested right there and then in Alek-
sandrovo:

“Wallach, alias Litvinov, who crossed the border on October 9
at Aleksandrovo with the passport of a Gustav Graf, and who is the
organiser of arms transports, is heading via Warsaw for St. Petersburg.
Put him under constant surveillance until our men in St. Petersburg
take over. The police department expects daily reports.”

On that day, the St. Petersburg secret police received one more
coded message, requiring that it should at all costs determine Litvi-
nov’s connections in Russia.

Who had informed the police of Litvinov’s departure for Russia?
Who had known of his false passport? The half-decayed papers in the
secret police archives reveal that the information had come from an
agent who had infiltrated the Russian emigre colony.

In early November 1906, Darting reported to St. Petersburg that
a secret agent holding a prominent office in the emigre Social-Demo-
cratic organisation was trying to find out the name and sailing date of
the ship that Wallach was sending to Russia with a cargo of arms
from some foreign port (Trieste or Fiume).

Now let’s look at the agent’s letter. By the way, it was the same
agent who reported that Litvinov had had a misunderstanding with
the Central Committee, and that the Georgians were in a fury.

“I have received your letter and money,” the agent wrote to his
chief. “However critical I am of myself, I cannot say I’ve done too
badly. I am a member of the Central Group Abroad, and get along
well with both the Bolsheviks and the Mensheviks. 1 have to write
an enormous amount of ietters, to have personal contacts with people,
and so on. As if this were not enough, I have to study medicine, be-
cause if I didn’t, I’d be asked why. I’m working hard, and I’m ready to
go on working. But here, abroad, it is very difficult to obtain vital
information. And this will be so until reprisals drive more revolution-
aries out of Russia and, notably, Finland. I can only lie low and
wait. It is incomparably harder than before. In the past, all revolu-
tionary activity was abroad, now it is all in Russia or Finland. To
have more information I should go to Russia. You shouldn’t rep-

rimand me for Litvinov, for you’ve jeopardised my position twice al-
ready. The first time with the carbines. Since then, Litvinov has
become a 100 times more secretive. The second time when it became
clear to him in Aleksandrovo that his passport had attracted atten-
tion, that it was known to the police, and that he was being watched.
Instead of observing him secretly, he was singled out among the
other passengers and was asked if he spoke Russian or not, how his
surname was pronounced, and so on. And this, while another thirty
foreigners had passed unquestioned.”

At this point in the report, Gendarmery Colonel Gerasimov made
a marginal note: ‘‘Reprimand Seredov for his stupidity.”

The secret agent’s letter continued: “The gendarmes paid no at-
tention to his person. They picked on the passport, although I am the
only one who knew anything about it. Then there was the clumsy
surveillance that left him in no doubt he was being followed. Don’t
you realise the gendarmes may have given me away. Just think of
what would happen if Litvinov suspected me. I say again that I could
have known the name and whereabouts of the ship eight or ten weeks
ago if we had been more circumspect. Now, in fact, 1 fear for my
hide.”

From Aleksandrovo, Litvinov went to Warsaw, and from Warsaw
to Wilno. Captain Zavarzin of the Warsaw secret police reported to
St. Petersburg that his detectives had tailed Litvinov to Wilno, where
he had been passed on to the local police. Things seemed to be going
along smoothly. The police was sure Litvinov was a cooked goose.

Then came the staggering news that Litvinov had left Warsaw with
two of the most experienced Warsaw detectives on his tail, but did
not turn up when the train arrived in Wilno. Lieutenant-Colonel
Shcbeko, chief of the Wilno special branch, telegraphed St. Petersburg
at once that the Warsaw people had lost Litvinov’s trail. Two Wilno
detectives, Kokor and Dmitriev, were ordered to find Litvinov at
any cost.

Coded messages flew to and fro between Warsaw, Wilno, and
St. Petersburg. After a long search, Litvinov was finally rediscovered.
A detailed description of that operation is extant: on October 10,
Litvinov was spotted at ten in the morning. At the railway station,
his identity was certified by a Warsaw detective. And when he set out
for St. Petersburg that day, Kokor and Dmitriev hoarded the same
train. The following day at 8 a.m., Litvinov arrived in St. Petersburg,
left his suitcase in the cloakroom at the railway station, and set out
for town. Petersburg detectives Mizkus and Kudzeiko trailed him.

But they, too, lost Litvinov. On the very first day of his stay in
St. Petersburg. He simply vanished into thin air. According to one

version, he had gone back to Warsaw or Wilno. Coded messages were
quickly sent out. The search continued in St. Petersburg, Warsaw,
Wilno, Riga, and other cities. But it was not until October 24, 1906,
that the special branch in St. Petersburg finally reported to its super-
iors that Litvinov had at last been spotted.

He had spent a few days in St. Petersburg, where he got money
from the Mensheviks. Knowing his temper, they did not resist. Still,
they managed to hold on to a fairly large bit of the sum set aside for
arms. After a heated argument, Litvinov went to Terioki. There, he
did not tempt fate, wound up his affairs in Finland, and headed for
Varna.

His worst fears had come true: the time for sailing had been
missed. The autumn storms had begun. “Still, we had to get the
freight aboard,” he recollected later, “although the crew from Odessa
did not inspire much faith. But there was no way to substitute a
more dependable skipper for the obviously unreliable one. I relied
mainly on my own people, whom I had put aboard the ship, among
them Kamo, 2 7 a trustworthy revolutionary. I watched the yacht until
it disappeared on the horizon, and fancied that the undertaking, to
which I had devoted 10 months, was going to succeed.

“But, alas, three days later I learned that owing to a storm or the
captain’s inexperience, the yacht had run aground near the Romanian
shore, and the crew had abandoned ship fearing arrest, while the arms
were pilfered by Romanian fishermen.”

Neither then nor later did Litvinov learn what had really happened
after Kamo and the other Bolsheviks had abandoned the grounded
ship. The arms did not fall into the hands of any Romanian fishermen.
They were seized by the Romanian authorities— 2,000 rifles and
650,000 cartridges.

Many years later, recalling the arms transport to Batum, Litvinov
related what had happened to the yacht’s captain. He was arrested
in Odessa and sent to St. Petersburg, where they threw him into the
prison of Petropavlovsk Fortress. There was more to the story that
Litvinov did not know. The particulars were down in the secret papers
of the police.

The Odessa police learned from an informer in May 1907 that a
new arrival who claimed to be Nikita Moroshkin of Melitopol was
living at 5 Podolsk Street. The police detained him and discovered
his real identity: FIc was Kayutin-Kayutenko, captain of the yacht.

Kayutin-Kayutenko reached Odessa at the end of 1906, soon
after the yacht had run aground. Here he made contact with the
local Social-Democrats and was made a member of the Odessa Strike

Committee. His party name was Vladimir. He was seized at the home
of a Klavdia Vasilenko, a member of the local Social-Democratic
organisation. A police search uncovered large amounts of banned
literature.

Kayutin-Kayutenko was charged with gun-running and with
conducting seditious activities aboard the steamer Yekaterinoslav
in the port of Odessa.

The captain did not betray the ideals of the revolution. During
World War II, he was in Nazi-occupied territory and helped the anti-
Nazi underground. The Nazis tortured his wife before his eyes, de-
manding that he reveal the whereabouts of a partisan detachment.
Kayutin-Kayutenko and his wife chose death rather than treason.

Learning of the yacht’s mishap, Litvinov hurried to Bucharest in
the hope of saving the arms. He was followed there by a Russian
police spy. On December 27, 1906, the spy reported to St. Petersburg
that he had followed Litvinov from Varna, and that Litvinov had a
Russian passport issued in Moscow on May 13, 1906, to a Nikolai
Markov. He was met at the station by a Doctor Rakovsky, who took
him to his home. In the same message, the police spy asked for
the money that was due to him.

The spy received his pieces of silver. We know this because a note,
“Pay him the money”, was attached to the spy’s message. But he lost
Litvinov’s track.

Litvinov did not waste time in Romania. It was immediately clear
that the arms could not be recovered. The Romanian police was
keeping a close watch along the shoreline. So Litvinov went to Ger-
many, then appeared in Paris and other places, arranging arms ship-
ments to the Baltic states. He sent arms to Riga, St. Petersburg, and
elsewhere via Tilsit and via Finland, using the old Iskra routes, and
helped by Latvian militants.

The secret police watched his every step, then lost him again, and
looked for him frienziedly. Litvinov was far away. In August 1907,
he set out for Stuttgart to attend a congress of the Second Interna-
tional. The Bolshevik wing of the RSDLP was headed by Lenin;
Maxim Litvinov was its secretary. He reappeared in Russia on the
eve of the Third All-Russia Conference of the RSDLP. He and Bog-
danov toured Bolshevik branches in the Volga country. The police
spotted Bogdanov, but could not identify the man who was accom-
panying him. Coded messages to Moscow, Saratov, and other cities,
said some prominent agent of the RSDLP Central Committee had
appeared in the Volga country. Finally, the Saratov police established
that it was Litvinov, travelling up and down Russia with Bogdanov,

briefing delegates about the Social-Democratic conference that would
be held in Helsingfors. An urgent police message said Litvinov had
left Moscow en route from Saratov to St. Petersburg. But the police
could not be sure Litvinov would go to St. Petersburg.

The chief of police issued an urgent order on November 2, 1907, to
arrest Litvinov at any cost. For how much longer would that unpre-
dictable Bolshevik keep slipping through his fingers? The coded mes-
sage showed the importance attached to Litvinov. Here is its text:

“Besides the more prominent Social-Democrat Bolsheviks, we
expect the very serious Bolshevik, Meyer Wallach, alias Litvinov, to
make his appearance. His description: age 3 5, medium height, stocky,
round face, light eyes, ginger hair and trimmed moustache, wears
glasses or a pince-nez, makes the impression of an actor, and when
the situation permits is in the habit of wearing expensive clothes. An
old photograph is attached. Make a most vigorous search for him at
railway stations, jetties and wharves, and arrest at once, taking secur-
ity measures against escape. Send him under strong guard to St.
Petersburg.”

The description in the police message was correct, save for one
detail: Litvinov was only 31.

The police did not arrest him then. Again, he slipped through its
net.

The Central Committee had a new assignment for him.

Chapter 4

BERLIN AND PARIS

On November 9, 1907, Kamo was arrested at 44 Alsasserstrasse,
Berlin. The tsarist police had been informed that the now well-known
Caucasian revolutionary was helping Litvinov to buy arms, and that
he had taken part in fitting out the ill-fated yacht shortly before.
Now the gendarmery was trying to trace all the contacts that Lit-
vinov had had with Kamo. It was convinced that Litvinov had planned
Kamo’s daring expropriation, which created a sensation all over
Europe.

Chief Russian police spy abroad Harting was especially zealous.
Litvinov had been crisscrossing Europe for five years, making his way
into Russia, returning, running arms, and slipping through the fingers
of the police time and again. Harting had received more than one
reprimand. And was determined to put an end to it.

On October 31, 1907, police spies reported that Litvinov had
been seen 12 days before in Kozlov on the Volga. The attached des-
cription was of a stocky man ol medium height, red-haired, round-
faced, wearing a pince-nez and a trimmed gingerish moustache. The
police chief in Kozlov reported on December 2, 1907, that, having
been alerted on November 2, he had obtained a picture of the said
Litvinov, and set up a close watch at all railways stations and work-
shops. But in vain.

On November 14, Harting reported from Paris that Litvinov had
arrived in Hamburg via Finland the week before.

But the police would not believe Litvinov had left the country. All
secret agents in almost all the big cities were alerted. The dread of
what the Bolsheviks could do, had addled the wits of the secret police.
Its nervousness spread. It affected the Berlin police, which was eager
to help its St. Petersburg colleagues. Contradictory coded messages
kept coming from the German capital. One day the Berliners report-
ed that Litvinov was domiciled in Berlin under the name of Tur-
payev. Next day they denied this and said Litvinov was in hiding
in Germany as Turpov. What they did not know was that Petros
Turpayev and Turpov were the names of one and the same person

who was helping Litvinov buy arms in Belgium.

Finally, on January 20, 1908, the Berlin chief of police reported
that a man named Mirsky had been arrested a few months before,
and that his identity had not yet been established. The Berlin police
did not know that the man they were holding was Kamo. The mes-
sage also said that according to a newspaper report Litvinov had been
arrested a few days before in Paris. But the St. Petersburg police
was not prepared to believe it. The search for him continued. Al-
though all the efforts were, in substance, wasted. For the newspaper
report had been correct: the French police did arrest Litvinov. And
on confirming the news, the Russian police was jubilant. At long
last, the elusive Bolshevik was behind bars. That he was in a French
prison did not matter. The French were allies. Surely they would
extradite Litvinov.

But what had happened? Why had Litvinov been arrested?

Alter the closure of the newspaper Novaya Zhizn, Litvinov had
gone to Paris where, until the end of 1907, his affairs were interwoven
in bizarre fashion with those of Kamo, or Semyon Arshakovich Tcr-
I’etrosyan, whom Lenin described as a man of extraordinary loyalty,
daring, and energy.

Did the Russian secret police know that Kamo had close connec-
tions with Litvinov? It did, but it did not know the particulars.
Though in Harting’s reports on Kamo the names of Litvinov and
Krasin figured almost unfailingly. The police thought Krasin was the
inspirer of Kamo’s exploits, while they considered the “expropria-
tions” in Tiflis and other cities to have been performed by Litvinov
and Kamo.

The police used all the curse words it knew to describe Litvinov.
It had the most agonising execution in mind for him if only he fell
into its hands. And, characteristically, when Kamo was arrested, the
Russian secret police did everything it could to prove that Kamo’s
offences were also Litvinov’s offences.

Was this true?

When Litvinov said in his recollections that he had put his faithful
friend Kamo aboard the gun-running yacht in Varna, he had said a
lot and also very little.

Kamo had been one of Litvinov’s few assistants when, by deci-
sion of the Third Party Congress, the latter was buying arms and
sending them to Russia. In a message dated October 31, 1907, Hart-
ing reported to his superiors that Kamo accompanied Litvinov and
his accomplices to Vienna, Sofia, and Varna, and that he had been
aboard the foundered yacht. He wrote that the photograph of the

man arrested in Berlin, shown to detectives who had followed Litvi-
nov and Kamo, was certified by them.

In connection with Kamo’s arrest in Berlin, the special branch
wrote to the Caucasus on February 16, 1908, that Litvinov was one
of Kamo’s closest associates.

The reports to this effect were many. And they were essentially
true. Stomoniakov, who had played a prominent part in the gun-
running, wrote in his memoirs that Kamo, who had a good knowledge
of firearms, used to come to Liege, where he visited arms manufac-
turers. Yes, Kamo came to Liege with Litvinov. He also accompanied
him to other cities in Western Europe.

What we should like to know, however, is whether or not Lit-
vinov was involved in the “expropriation” of large sums in the Cau-
casus?

Let us turn to the documents. On October 27, 1907, police head-
quarters sent a top secret letter (No. 138786) to the secret police in
St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Odessa. It said in part:

“We have information that a Georgian known as Kamo, and some
15 to 20 of his friends ... have organised a squad to carry out a major
robbery. Kamo has learned that some 15 million roubles belonging
to the government, of which 6 million in gold, are stored some place
in Russia. The group has decided to ‘expropriate’ the money before
January, even before December, and to take out only 3 or 4 million,
owing to the weight of the money. To carry out the plan, they intend
to buy a three-wheel motorcar abroad. The only ones who know of
the plan arc Litvinov and Krasin. Several thousand roubles have alrea-
dy been spent.”

Orders were issued all over Russia to guard the banks round the
clock. On October 19, 1907, Ilarting asked the police chief in St.
Petersburg to send him three sets of photographs of Litvinov and the
arrested captain of the gun-smuggling yacht, because he wanted to
check in Vienna if Kamo had been with them. Harting wrote:

“I’ll send copies of these photographs to the Berlin authorities
without mentioning names, in order to establish whether Litvinov
and Kamo had lived together last year in Berlin. In an indirect way,
this should prompt the Germans to involve Litvinov in Kamo’s case.
To avoid endangering my agents, I cannot inform the German police
directly that Litvinov had been in Berlin together with Kamo last
year and this year.”

The secret police, as we see, did everything it could to prove that
Litvinov was directly involved in the expropriation. But that was not
true.

The daring expropriation was carried out by Kamo under the

guidance of the Tiflis* Committee of the RSDLP on June 13, 1907,
downtown in broad daylight. Kamo and his friends expropriated a
large sum of money for Party needs. Philip Maharadze, a Party veter-
an, wrote: “If Kamo and his group had done nothing more for the
Party before or after the expropriation, this alone would have suf-
ficed for us to remember him forever.”

Where was Litvinov on the day of that daring operation? In 1907
he was in Russia repeatedly, on Party business, and returned to Ger-
many, where he lived under the name of Goldenstein. The police got
wind of this. Litvinov was seized and put in a Berlin prison. It was
the most despicable and dirty prison he had ever seen. Owing to
the public outcry raised by the Social-Democrat deputies in the
Reichstag, Litvinov was soon released and left Germany. It follows
that on the day of the expropriation, he was many thousands of kilo-
metres away from Tiflis.

Now we have come to the concluding stage. The expropriated mo-
ney was handed over to Litvinov abroad. Not the entire sum, however,
but the 500-rouble banknotes that could not be used in Russia be-
cause their numbers were known to the police and all the banks in the
country.

Litvinov worked out a plan for exchanging the banknotes. The
biggest sum, 30,000 , was to be exchanged in Paris. Litvinov planned
to do it himself with Fanny Yampolskaya, who was doing many use-
ful things for the Party at that time. Another 25,000 Litvinov planned
to exchange in London. He intended to go to Britain for that purpose
with Yampolskaya, and it was part of his plan to exchange 45,000
more in other parts of Europe, notably Switzerland.

The entire operation was to rake one day— January 8, 1908. The
money was stored in Paris at the home of Varvara Pisareva, who had
been connected with the Moscow Committee of the RSDLP.

There was nothing to indicate that Litvinov’s plan would fail.
Harting was in tantrums. He and his many agents simply could not
follow Litvinov’s movements. He was a most cautious man. Not
even his closest associates, the police spy reported to St. Petersburg,
knew anything of his plans. He kept changing them every day and
told no one of the details, and, besides, no one knew where the mo-
ney was stored away.

How had Harting learned of Litvinov’s operation? From the source
that also informed him of Kamo. The agent who betrayed Kamo
also betrayed Litvinov. It was Y.A. Zhitomirsky.

The tsarist police had done its utmost to recruit informers from

* Tiflis— now Tbilisi, capital of the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic.

among the Social-Democrats and to smuggle traitors into the move-
ment. Malinovsky and Azef were at the top of the list. Zhitomirsky
was another. He had left Russia at the turn of the century, and
studied medicine in Berlin University. He took part in forming the
Berlin group of the RSDLP. Soon, however, he became an informer of
the Prussian police, and was handed over by it to the secret police of
Russia. Zhitomirsky had important Party assignments, knew a number
of languages, and took part in a few of the Party’s congresses. And he
informed- among other thing, he informed the Russian secret police
of Litvinov’s gun-running, and it was only the latter’s astounding abil-
ity to keep things under his hat that saved the operation from failure.

After Kamo’s detention, Zhitomirsky did everything he could to
prevent Litvinov from exchanging the 500-rouble banknotes, and to
get him arrested. He let Harting know of the impending money
exchange. The latter realised that it would be very hard to foil Litvi-
nov’s plan. And he appealed for help to the Tsar’s ambassador in Paris.
The latter officially requested the Paris authorities to detain Litvinov
immediately.

All Russian police spies in the French capital and fifteen agents of
the Paris police kept Litvinov under round-the-clock surveillance. It
was not easy to keep on the expert Bolshevik conspirator’s tail. lie
had suddenly changed his domicile. His helper, Fanny Yampolskaya,
did the same. The police lost track of them.

Litvinov, who had noticed that he was being watched, managed
to transfer the money to trustworthy hands. On January 4, 1908, he
and Yampolskaya were to leave Paris for London. They had train
tickets to the coast, where they would board a ship for Britain. Rus-
sian and French detectives with photographs of Litvinov were cover-
ing all railway stations. Nothing, it seemed, could prevent his arrest.
But again Litvinov vanished, as he had done in VVilno, and St. Peters-
burg, and elsewhere.

Later that night, however, the police seized him and Yampolskaya.
Litvinov was installed in Sante prison, Yampolskaya at Saint Lazare.

Harting was jubilant. He wrote a detailed account of how Litvinov
was captured to his superiors. A passage from it is worth citing: “I
take the liberty to add,” Harting wrote, “that extraordinary effort
was required to bring the affair to a happy end. 1 therefore most res-
pectfully venture to hope that Your Excellency will permit me to
cite those who took part, and have them decorated.”

But the police jubilation was premature.

Paris newspapers relish a sensation. But January 1908 left a special
mark. A spate of articles appeared after Litvinov’s arrest. The papers

wanted to stun, frighten and fascinate their readers. They wrote of a
Russian terrorist, of highjackings, and other such. It seemed Litvinov’s
extradition was a matter of days. But the rosy hopes of the Russian
secret police burst like a bubble. Harting reported:

“As concerns Litvinov, who has been arrested in Paris, the French
Ministry of the Interior informed the French Government about him
and, despite vigorous remonstrances of the Paris police, ordered his
release.”

Why so? French Prime Minister Clemenceau, after all, had been
inclined to extradite Litvinov. As Harting reported from Paris, he had
learned from unofficial sources that Clemenceau had nothing against
surrendering Litvinov. “I have learned this from a friend of the court
investigator handling the case,” Harting wrote. “He is well disposed
towards Russia and willing to do what he can.”

But Clemenceau’s willingness to do Russia a favour was at odds with
French law. Litvinov had not been in Russia during the so-called expro-
priation. He had taken no immediate part in it. As for exchanging the
500-rouble bills that Kamo had given him— this could not be proved.

The arrest of Litvinov and Yampolskaya created a stir in the press.
The progressive papers said it was unfit for the country that had sent
the Bourbons packing to persecute revolutionaries fighting a tyrant.
The campaign for Litvinov’s release was headed by Jean Jaures, the
socialist leader. On January 19, 1908, I’Humanite addressed an open
letter to Justice Minister Aristide Briand:

“We protest and ask M. Briand by what right he arrested Litvinov
and Yampolskaya? The Tsar’s letter is not reason enough... It is
high time the two were released.”

The campaign gained momentum, and the French government
decided not to aggravate relations with the popular socialist leader.
But there was yet another reason for the Russian revolutionary’s
release— a diplomatic reason.

In 1908, when Litvinov was behind bars, an undercover struggle was
underway within the European military alliances. Kaiser Wilhelm with
his usual self-assurance continued to weave intrigues with the Russian
Tsar, driving a wedge between Russia and the French and British.

The Russian Tsar did not trust his allies, and fell for the Kaiser’s
wiles. In July 1905, after tsarist Russia’s crushing defeat at the hands
of the Japanese in Manchuria, the two met in Bjorko, Finland. Wil-
helm offered the Tsar a treaty of alliance they had discussed the year
before. And the Tsar signed an instrument that cast a cloud on the
Russo-French alliance. Naval Minister Birilev initialled it without
reading, since the Tsar asked him to. True, it was soon annulled under
pressure of the Tsar’s advisers. But Paris, well informed of the Tsar’s

moves, no longer had faith in him. Nor were the French suspicions
groundless. In August 1907, Wilhelm and Tsar Nicholas met again,
this time at Swinemiinde. A protocol was signed, under which Ger-
many promised help in cancelling the Russo-Anglo-French conven-
tion which Russia had signed in 1856 after losing the Crimean cam-
paign, pledging not to fortify the Alan Islands. This Russo-German
stand in the Baltic caused displeasure in Paris and London. As usual
in such cases, diplomats looked for an opportunity to let the other
side feel they were in the know, and would retaliate. All that, of
course, played into the hands of the emigre Russian revolutionaries.

On a cool January morning in 1908 a car pulled up outside Sante
prison. An official of the Paris Prefecture alighted. He was carrying
a file. The prison gates opened, and a man of about 30, of medium
height, fairly plump, wearing a light overcoat and a hat, emerged.

Another car drove up a few minutes later. A policeman helped a
pretty young woman to alight. She wore a cape and a then fashionable
heel-length skirt. She walked over and stood beside the man at the
prison gate.

The official bowed:

“Monsieur Litvinoff? Madame Yampolska?”

The couple nodded. He then pulled a paper out of his file and read
the French Interior Minister’s order releasing them. They were told
to quit France at once.

“Thank you, monsieur, but our gratitude goes to Jean Jaures
rather than the French authorities. Are we free?”

“Yes. Madame Yampolska said she will go to Belgium. You, too,
M. Litvinoff, must leave France without delay. Today would be
fine. A sergeant of the police will escort you to the Belgian border.
Where do you wish to go?”

“Britain, but not today.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t any money. I must first earn the fare.”

“That’s up to the Interior Minister to decide.”

Permission to stay on in France for a time was granted. Litvinov
found a job with a shoemaker’s. For a fortnight, he mended shoes,
earned a sum of money, and even had minor surgery done in a private
clinic. All he remembered before the anaesthetic took hold was that
the surgeon used that minute or two to kiss the pretty nurse. To
be sure, the surgery came off successfully.

A few days later, Litvinov, crossed the English Channel to London.

Thus began the Russian revolutionary’s London period. It lasted
for ten years.

Chapter 5

THE LONDON YEARS

In London Litvinov found lodgings in Camden Town. At first, he
had wanted to rent any room in any part of the proletarian East End.
But his friends advised him to pick Camden Town— a part of the city
where railway and transport workers lived who were employed at
King Cross and St. Pancras stations. The landlady didn’t charge much
and said that she would cook breakfast. She smiled sweetly, but
added that the narrow bed was meant for one person only, and as
for the rest, the lodger’s personal life held no interest for her.

Litvinov accepted her terms and went to fetch his luggage. In the
evening, when he returned, going up the stairs he saw a policeman
on the landing above. The man looked closely at him, and walked
down. Litvinov stopped, wondering what to do— go on to his room or
apologise. (“Sorry, 1 must have come to the wrong house.”) The
policeman continued on his way down the stairs. Drawing level with
Litvinov, he smiled, nodded, and went out. He was the landlady’s
husband. The idyllic hues of Camden Town faded at once. But, after
some thought, Litvinov decided that a “personal” police guard was
not necessarily a disadvantage.

In London, Litvinov didn’t want to immerse himself in the compa-
ratively quiet semi-bourgeois life led by some of the emigres who
were cowed by Stolypin’s reign of terror in Russia and lost faith in
the success of the revolutionary cause. The discomforts and hardships
of emigre life contributed even more to this pessimism. The Russian
colony in London was in a permanent state of depression.

The centre of emigre life in the early spring was on the premises of
the German Workers’ Cultural Association. Then, in 1910, the Russian
emigres established their own association, the Herzen Circle, with
premises near the British Museum, on Charlotte Street. The club
consisted of a small hall of unprepossessing appearance: gymnastic
gear lay on the floor and along the walls. The emigres often went
there with their children, for there was no one they could leave them
with at home. Various circles met on the premises, social parties and
concerts were held. Fierce political arguments frequently flared up

about the future of the Russian revolutionary movement and the rea-
sons for the defeat of the 1905-1907 revolution. The participants
argued themselves hoarse, forgetting about the little children running
about, about their worries, about everything else on earth.

Litvinov realised that he was stuck in London for a good many
years. He had to think of earning a living. Friends said they would in-
troduce him to a Feitelson. Feitelson always helped.

At the end of the 1890s, Wolf Feitelson had emigrated from
Russia to Britain. He settled in London, and started a small business.
But he failed to escape the crises that struck Britain’s business world
in those years. Time and again, he was reduced to peddling things in
the streets, never shirked his work, and paid his debts bit by bit. Since
only few bankrupt businessmen did so, Feitelson’s honesty was no-
ticed. The Times ran an article about him.

Commercial firms solicited his services. He accepted the offer of a
reputable concern. Thus began his climb. Soon he moved into a mo-
dest mansion in London’s aristocratic quarter.

Feitelson had no relation to the revolutionary movement and
was worlds removed from Marxism. But he had a warm spot for
Russian revolutionaries. Gradually, Feitelson’s home became a sort ot
meeting place for Russian emigres. It was here, in Fcitelson’s home,
that Maxim Litvinov became a teacher of English in 1908.

Litvinov did not stay at the policeman’s house long. Although it
had its advantages, there were inconveniences too: his Party friends
could not come and see him. They suggested he change his digs.

During those years, most Russian emigres lived near Hamptstead.
Situated on a hill, the district was considered London’s artistic quar-
ter, the home of writers, artists, and other bohemians. At the beginn-
ing of the century, two-storey cottages surrounded with gardens
had predominated there.

Litvinov was about to move to Hampstead, but things worked
out otherwise. The little group of Bolsheviks decided to settle as a
commune. This would brighten their emigre life and would be
cheaper. For a comparatively small payment, they rented a furnished
house in Ealing. The commune consisted solely of men, mostly young
ones full of strength and energy, hardened and able to withstand the
hardships of emigre life. The earnings were put into a common kitty.
They did their own shopping at the market or in the shops, cleaned
up, took their washing to the laundry, and cooked their own simple
meals. Money was scarce. Their earnings were mostly casual. That is
why they decided to have their own livestock, and bought rabbits and

poultry. They lived harmoniously and cheerfully. In the evenings,
they strolled about the quiet little streets of Ealing, walked past
the green kitchen-gardens to St. Paul’s Cathedral and returned home
late. London was asleep; in the peace of the night could be heard such
words as “narodnichestvo”, “Marxism”, and “opportunism”. The
bobbies, as they listened to the unfamiliar speech, tried to understand
what these Russians were arguing about.

The commune lasted a fairly long time, but broke up for reasons
not as yet ascertained. Most likely, news got round of an impending
police raid. In any case, they abandoned their Ealing house in quite
some haste. The livestock was slaughtered the night before. A fare-
well feast was held, and they departed at daybreak.

Litvinov continued teaching, but did not manage to make ends
meet. He was helped by his English friends, who found a job for him
with the publishing firm of William and Norgate, which had extensive
contacts with the European book market and undertook translations.
Litvinov was to keep track of Russian, French, and German literature,
submit notes and judgements on the books, and correspond with
publishers in Russia, France, and Germany. After his much publicised
deportation from Paris, his going to France and Germany was fraught
with difficulties, but as an employee of a British publisher he could
count on going there, and soon took advantage of the opportunity.
The publishers, by the way, thought highly of him for his good knowl-
edge of languages and his competent reviews.

Litvinov now moved into cheap furnished rooms in Mornington
Crescent. No one ever visited him. He received books from France
and Germany; they had to be looked through, read and reviewed,
and there were also dozens of letters to be answered. He never had
enough time and often brought whole stacks of books back from the
office and sat over them till late at night. His sole entertainment in
those years was the cinema. Sometimes of an evening he would drop
into the small picture palace in the vicinity.

On Saturdays, Litvinov often went for a stroll in the quiet streets
or visited the' Klyshkos. Nikolai Klyshko, a professional Bolshevik
revolutionary of Polish parentage, had emigrated from Russia and had
long been resident in London. He had a job with Vickers, earned a de-
cent salary, and married an English girl named Phyllis, tall, red-haired
and very beautiful.

The Klyshkos lived on Hampstead High Street in the usual English
flat of four rooms-two up, two down-connected by a staircase. Lit-
vinov would bring a few bottles of his favourite beer. Phyllis would
cook some steaks. So as not to involve her in Party affairs, Litvinov

5-01072

and Klyshko talked Russian. The conversations lasted till midnight.
Litvinov was already secretary of the London group of Bolsheviks
and was in control of the Russian emigre organisations’ ties not only
with Russia, but with all the other Bolshevik colonies in Europe
and America.

The international situation was grim. Signs of an approaching
world war were ever more ominous. Montenegro, Serbia, Bulgaria,
and Greece made war jointly on Turkey in October 1912. The follow-
ing year was highlighted by a new military flare-up, this time between
Bulgaria and the coalition of Greece, Serbia, and Romania. Chauvin-
ism held the Balkans tightly in its grip, and spread slowly but surely to
the rest of Europe.

The European working class followed the developments with an-
xiety. It called for energetic action to halt the militarists. An extra-
ordinary international socialist congress gathered in the autumn of
1912 in Basle. Its manifesto called on the workers to prevent a war,
and “to depose the class rule of the capitalists” if war should break
our after all.

But Lenin and the Bolsheviks were afraid that the right-wing So-
cial-Democratic leaders in Europe would sell the workers down
the river. Lenin knew most of them, had met them many times,
talked and argued with them. He knew that some, like Jean Jaures,
would be consistent in their opposition to war. But he had no faith in
Henry Ilyndman, the British socialist leader, nor in Emile Vandervelde,
the Belgian. Neither was he sure of the right-wing Social-Democratic
leaders in Germany.

In the summer of 1913 Lenin came to Switzerland owing to his
wife Nadezhda Krupskaya’s ill health. She underwent surgery at Pro-
fessor Koch’s clinic in Berne. Lenin used the stay in Switzerland to
deliver a series of lectures. On learning about this, Litvinov went
to Geneva.

On July 10, Lenin was to lecture on the national question at the
People’s House. The hall was filled to overcrow'ding. Litvinov barely
managed to elbow his way closer to the lecturer. Tatiana Fyodorovna
Lyudvinskaya, member of the Party since 1903, who attended the
conference, recollected:

“Litvinov arrived in a Russian blouse with a belt and gave the im-
pression of being a typical professional Bolshevik. Lenin greeted
everyone in a friendly way, was excited by the meeting, peered
quizzically into the faces of the people there, and questioned them
about the difficulties of their life and about comrades whom he had
not seen for a long time.

“After his lecture, Lenin asked the comrades to make reports. He
listened intently, took notes, asked questions, and tried to ‘squeeze’
everything out of them that they knew or ought to know about the
situation in the countries they lived in. Lenin asked Litvinov to tell
him in detail about the mood of the British working class and its lead-
ers, and the situation in the International Socialist Bureau, with
which Litvinov had already had occasion to deal.

“When all had spoken, Lenin took over and spoke about the deci-
sions of the Basle Congress (of the Second International— Z. S.).
He kept referring to the situation in Russia, and said that a war was
imminent and it was time to think ‘about our work in Russia’, about
the ‘new conditions that can arise and for which wc must prepare’.

“When the conference was over, Lenin secluded himself with Lit-
vinov in a corner. This was one of the countless chats that Lenin had
been having in Munich, London, Geneva, and Cracow— wherever he
lived and worked. And, like many such talks, which concerned Bol-
shevik tactics and key issues of the revolution, this one was never
recorded. They simply sat together and chatted, these two men of like
mind: the forty-three-year-old Lenin, just a little tired, and the thirty-
seven-ycar-old Litvinov, one of the fighters of his Party.

“As he took his leave, Lenin requested that he should be kept
regularly informed about the situation in the London colony.

After Litvinov returned from Geneva, he was visited at Mor-
nington Crescent by the Klyshkos. Litvinov had not been expecting
them, no one ever visited him in those days, and he was visibly em-
barrassed and vexed that the Klyshkos had not warned him. Phy-
llis was shocked at the sight of the hovel in which he was living and at
once invited him to move to their place in Hampstead. A “family
council” took place, and Klyshko reaffirmed his wife’s offer.

Having moved to High Street after some time, Litvinov imme-
diately informed Lenin of his new address. A letter soon arrived.
Lenin wrote that Litvinov had been appointed official representative
of the RSDLP Central Committee in the International Socialist Bu-
reau, and asked in what name the mandate was to be made out-
Litvinov or Harrison, which was one of Litvinov’s aliases. An impor-
tant new stage was beginning in Litvinov’s life. He was moving into
the foreground as a political figure at international level.

In Autumn 1913, at Poronin, not far from Cracow, Poland, Lenin
held a Central Committee conference with Party functionaries,
at which the objectives of the Russian Social-Democratic movement
were defined. The main slogans, as before, were a democratic repub-
lic, confiscation of landed estates, and an eight-hour working day.
Resolutions were passed on the nationalities and other questions.

The decisions of the Poronin Conference were to he brought to the
notice of the Social-Democratic parties of all countries immediately
and presented to the ISB. Lenin asked Litvinov to organise in Lon-
don the translation of the Central Committee’s decisions into English,
French, and German, and hand the texts to the ISB.

The session of the ISB in London, scheduled to open on Decem-
ber 1, was to be attended by all the leaders of the Second Internation-
al and the Socialist parties of Europe: Jean Jaures, Karl Kautsky,
Camille Huysmans, Otto Bauer, Viktor Adler, Emile Vandervelde,
Edouard Vaillant, and Rosa Luxemburg. Litvinov was to meet them
in person. It became known that leaders of the Mensheviks and Li-
quidators 28 were about to descend on London at any time—
Chkheidze 29 , Chkhenkcli 30 , Rubanovich 3 1 , Dneprov, and
Semkovsky. 32

After the Prague Conference of the RSDLP 33 in January 1912,
the Liquidators made it a habit to come to the British capital. Having
been defeated in Prague, they had picked London as a staging area for
a counter-offensive.

At the ISB session, the Mensheviks and Liquidators intended to
raise the question of what they termed the untenable state of the
Russian Social-Democratic movement, and thus to mislead the Eu-
ropean Socialist parties. Lenin instructed Litvinov to confront
them.

The last autumn of peace in London before the World War was one
of frequent fogs and rain. It was damp and uncomfortable. After mov-
ing in with the Klyshkos on High Street, Litvinov felt better and was
almost free of the bronchitis from which he had been suffering re-
cently. But life under the protection of Phyllis also had its inconveni-
ences. A highly experienced conspirator, Litvinov carefully concealed
his Party connections and his correspondence with the Foreign Bu-
reau of the Bolsheviks. He was now receiving his mail on High Street,
however, and Phyllis was not lacking in feminine curiosity; she look-
ed too closely at the envelopes, and patronised her lodger too intru-
sively in other ways too. She would suggest a breakfast that Litvinov
couldn’t afford, or she would insist on checking his wardrobe and
would try to make him buy a new coat when he only had' small
change in his pocket.

Litvinov got up early in the morning, tried to slip away unnoticed,
went to cheap little pubs crowded with workers just off night shift
and had his glass of ale and a slice of bacon. That was his breakfast.

I hen he would go to the Herzen Circle in Charlotte Street to get the
latest news from Russia.

On November 28, Litvinov, as usual, got up early and was on his
way to the door when Phyllis said, “There’s a letter here for you,
Maxim, but it’s not from a woman, judging by the envelope. It
doesn’t smell of scent.”

The letter was from Lenin in Cracow. Lenin gave him advice con-
cerning his coming appearance at the Socialist Bureau, and wrote that
he had sent a mandate made out to Maxim Litvinov stating that he
was the official representative of the Bolshevik Central Committee of
the RSDLP and instructed to represent the Party on the ISB.

Litvinov corresponded with Lenin before the sessions of the ISB
and every day while they were in progress. The exchange of letters
shows how Litvinov went about fulfilling Lenin’s instructions. It
produces a remarkably vivid picture of the events of those days.
The Bolsheviks were locked in battle with the Mensheviks, the Liq-
uidators, and opportunists from the Second International. The letters
also show the part played by Litvinov, and his consistently Bolshevik
position— evidence of the immense work he had done in his London
period.

And so the letters. First, a letter to Lenin in Poronin, dated De-
cember 3, 1913;

“Have received both parcels— 1) the minutes of the conference and
2) other documents and clippings.* I understand from your letter that
all documents, that is, the report and the attached resolutions, are be-
ing translated into German by Zagorsky 34 in Leipzig. What bothers
me, however, is the sentence, ‘Find a good German translator at
all costs.’ What for? I can’t find such a translator here. Hence, I ex-
pect to get the German translation of the documents either from you
or from Leipzig. I’m translating into English only... Have you sent the
report and resolutions to Huysmans or should 1 do it? Why is it signed
by Kamenev? Isn’t it you who’s on the Bureau? Will you send the
mandate to me or directly to Huysmans? Call me Litvinoff, please,
not Harrison. Who are the members of the Bureau? How many votes
does our Party normally command? Had there been Letts, Bund
representatives, and Mensheviks on it before? Or are they clamouring
for representation now? Should I submit a written protest against
representatives of the Menshevik Organising Committee or should
I only protest in my speech? Docs the representative of the Central
Organ have a deliberative vote or does he attend as a mere corres-
pondent?

“It seems to me the resolution against Rosa L(uxemburg) is a

• The reference is to the documents of the Poronin Conference, and other
RSDLP Central Committee papers.

bit too harsh.* It’ll turn the Europeans against us. Couldn’t it be
toned down a bit-say, substitute irrefubren (mislead) for betrugen
(deliberately deceive)?

“I have not the slightest idea of Polish affairs. If there are clippings
from Polish papers against the Main Board,** send them to me please.
Should I protest against the presence of the Seven*** or confine
myself to a statement that they do not represent any Party faction?”
And the letter dated December 12, 1913, to Lenin in Poronin:

“Dear friend, have just received the mandate and your letter
with Huysmans’s notice. Have received the French translations from
Nosov (?). The English translations are also ready. But nothing yet
from Zagorsky. 1 hope he’ll not hold matters up. Yesterday I looked
for Iluysmans at the Labour Party office, but he hadn’t arrived. Left a
note for him, saying we should meet. The Seven will be represented
by Chkheidze, not Chkhenkeli. I learned about this from a notice
about the lecture that the local Liquidators plan to hold jointly
with the Bund on the nationalities question, with Chkheidzc in
the chair. I will, of course, fight for Plekhanov against the Mcnshe-

viks. .

“Hope they’ll let me speak. I am polishing my language in the Ger-
man manner... Have gathered a considerable amount of material.

“Thanks for the newspapers from Petersburg. Germer**** will
write for the Pravda. I’ll cable on Sunday...

Another letter to Lenin, dated December 13 or 14, 1913:

“Have received your letter with news from Vienna. Have also ic-
ccived the German translations from Leipzig. Chkheidze and Skobc-
lcv have arrived. They are going to open fire against me the day after
tomorrow. But I’m not afraid, for all they have are firecrackers. They
can’t force me into anything. It is not likely that any resolution will
be passed against the Six,***** though the clfims of accidental failure
to come, and loss of the letter, may cause smiles. I consider it a mistake
that a member of the Six has not come. They may think he didn t
dare. Haven’t succeeded in catching Iluysmans. He arrived today. But
he did not turn up at the Labour Party office, where 1 left him a note.
Phoned his hotel several times but he wasn’t in. I’ll try and go there
myself...”

* At an ISB sitting, in December 1913, Rosa Luxemburg submitted a
proposal for the unification of Bolsheviks and Mensheviks and was strongly
criticised for this by Lenin.

* * The governing body of the Polish Party.

*** Menshevik members of the Fourth State Duma in Russia.

• • * • Germer-a Bolshevik, member of the London group.

***** T h e re f ercnce is to the Bolshevik members of the Fourth State Duma.

On December 13, 1913, Litvinov wrote to Lenin and Krupskaya
their Cracow address:

“Dear friends, the story of yesterday’s sittings was mailed to the
Pravda by Germer today. Only an oblique rqcntion of Russian affairs:
that owing to the late hour the Bureau had adopted Kautsky’s resolu-
tion without any discussion; that the Executive [of the ISB] should
get in touch with the Russian organisations, and so on. You may add
information that has come from me. If you wish, Germer is willing to
write an article about the Bureau for the Central Organ.

“I suggest that the Committee of Organisations Abroad should col-
lect material for the International about the trickery of the Liquida-
tors. It would be a good thing to collect pearls from their literature
(like the draft of a ruling on freedom of coalitions), translate them
into other languages, and forward to all the more prominent members
of the International, like Kautsky and others. The thing is to supply
accurate facts only, giving the sources. I hope you’ll agree. I’ll arrange
for the English translations here and forward them to Irving* (who
represents the British Socialist Party) instead of Quelch.** Wrote
you yesterday and this morning. I’m spoiling for a fight. Eager to
come to grip with the Liquidators.”

This was followed by one more letter dated December 13 and
marked “Saturday, 2 p.m.”:

“Dear friends, I’m writing at lunch-time. Rosa Luxemburg has
not turned up. The question of unification will not arise, 1 think,
unless someone else backs Rosa’s proposal. Present here arc Jaures,
Vaillant, Kautsky, and Otto Bauer... (Adler isn’t around), Rakovsky
(Romania), all the EC members, Rubanovich, Dneprov (Martynov),
who asks to be called Dneprov in the press, Semkovsky, a Bund
man, a Latvian, Chkheidze and Skobelev. These 1 have listed from
memory. No Italians, and therefore also no Balabanova. Who will
represent the Organising Committee, Dneprov or Semkovsky, ^is still
unknown. They are still conferring. Plekhanov and Kamenev were
the only ones named during the roll-call. Chkheidze responded instead
of them. I declared the faction (the Six) had elected someone else,
not Chkheidze, and that the comrade had failed to arrive for acciden-
tal reasons. Iluysmans said that under the Rules only the majority
had the right to represent a faction. I retorted that I reserved the right
to raise the issue again on another occasion ( bei einer anderen Gele-
genbeit) because I do not want to start a discussion at this moment.
That was the end of it for the time being. It would have been

* A British Socialist Party leader.

** a leader of the British Socialists.

awkward to open the conference with our squabbles. Huysmans said
the vote would be divided between us and the Organising Commit-
tee.* He said Plekhanov would have to disappear and that, in general,
all Russian and Polish affairs should be settled between five and six
o’clock. The Duma people are said to have brought a printed report
of their faction. Dneprov and his companions are now trying to pre-
vail on Kautsky that the Bureau should take action, elect a com-
mission, and so forth. But Kautsky is standing his ground. He is
critical of Rosa’s sally against Lenin, and says we must make the
workers in Russia demand unity, for nothing can be done from abroad.

“The Britons favour unity based on the British Socialist Party join-
ing the Labour Party. A resolution was read yesterday that will he dis-
cussed at the Bureau the day after tomorrow. We’ll write for the
Pravda tonight. The premises are poon— damp and dark...”

Litvinov’s next letter to Lenin and Krupskaya was dated De-
cember 14.

“Dear friends, everything occurred just as Huysmans had predict-
ed: the Russian affair was disposed of between five and half past five.
The decision to close the sitting at 5.30 p.m. had been taken before-
hand. And the Russian affair was shifted to the bottom of the list,
whereupon, owing to pressure of time, the speakers were cut short.
Kautsky took the floor first to explain his resolution, a copy of which I
am sending you. The International, he said, is poorly informed of Russi-
an affairs. The reports and statements of the Russian organisations arc
one-sided. It is essential to obtain the judgement of some impartial in-
stitution, such as the 1SB Executive. They expect it to gather repre-
sentatives of all the factions and acquaint itself with their differences.
If these differences will be too deep for reconciliation to be possible,
the Executive will submit them for resolution to the Vienna Congress.

“After Kautsky’s speech, the Bund man proposed that the resolu-
tion should be adopted without a discussion. The Bureau was about to
accept this proposal, for it was time to close shop and go home, but
Rosa Luxemburg asked for the floor ostensibly to retort to the Bund
man. In fact, she objected to Kautsky’s resolution. She said she was
wholeheartedly in favour, but with one amendment: if the Bureau
wished to begin unifying different parties ‘by reason of the chaos’,
it was hopeless. The only thing that could be done was to restore
the unity that already existed. For this reason, the Executive could
not hope to address ‘all Russian Social-Democrats’, as Kaustky had
put it, but only those organisations that had already been in the Party.

• Since Plekhanov had not come to the ISB sitting, it was decided to divide
his vote between the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks.

She spoke softly and without ambiguities. The most important thing
for her, it seemed, was not to admit the BSP. I was then allowed to
have my say, but after five minutes the chair stopped me, saying the
discussion cannot go on owing to the late hour. I managed to say a
few words about the groups abroad, about the International being
poorly informed, and said that while I sided with Kautsky’s resolu-
tion, 1 thought it more expedient for the Executive Committee to
offer its services first of all to the Duma factions and try to tone down
the differences. Only then to the Central Committee, the Organising
Committee, etc. Vandcrvelde said the Executive would take cognis-
ance of my proposal and would, according to Rosa Luxemburg s
suggestion, first get in touch with the parties represented on the
Bureau. Then he put to the vote Kautsky’s resolution, which was na-
turally adopted. Speaking on behalf of the Bund and the Latvians,
Martynov declared his complete solidarity with Kautsky s resolution.
Skobelev did the same on behalf of the factions. A complete mix-up.
The delegates did not listen. The question of affiliation was raised.
The Executive suggested letting the Organising Committee have
Plekhanov’s half-vote. I protested and submitted my own resolution
with a short explanation. In doing so 1 shed a tear over Plekhanov s
departure who, I said, would represent the future unity better than
anyone else if only the Bureau so wished. I also made a statement
about Chkheidze’s mandate. The Executive’s suggestion was naturally
accepted. The secretary announced that a number of statements had
come to hand in connection with the Russian affair. Everything would
be attached to the minutes. And, naturally, 1 was not given an oppor-
tunity to set forth our proposal on the Polish question. The sitting
was closed. Oh, yes, Jaures was allowed to say how sorry he was that
he was leaving the session with, as before, only a vague idea of the
Russian affair. Rubanovich said that in keeping with the Amsterdam
Congress resolution, they should also think of uniting with the Social-
ist-Revolutionaries, but no one was listening.

“In general, we can be pleased. The resolution envisages a fairly
long procedure, and, besides, it can be easily discredited by references
to the situation in which it was adopted, when even the representa-
tives of interested parties were not given an opportunity to speak,
and so on.

“The Liquidators ran around all day like poisoned mice, whi-
spering to each other, putting their heads together, and writing,
writing, writing. I could not make it out. Evidently, they wanted
Kautsky to take their resolution (they wanted a special commis-
sion to be elected), but all they accomplished was for him to submit
his own resolution. If he hadn’t done it, Rosa Luxemburg would

have submitted one of her own, a worse one.

“Yes, Kautsky did not accept Rosa Luxemburg’s amendments.
He said the old party in Russia had ceased to exist, and it was a bad
idea to restore it. The old organisations had changed. New ones had
appeared.

“Plekhanov’s letter stunned the Liquidators.

“He has helped the Six.

“That’s about all. Sorry to be so incoherent. I’m rushing off to the
railway station to mail the letter. If something is unclear or incom-
plete, do not hesitate to ask. I instructed Germer to make detailed
notes, but he fell down on the job. He is writing you about all non-
Russian affairs. He promised to send a report on today’s sitting to the
Pravda tomorrow', but don’t depend on him and write it yourself. A
report on yesterday’s meeting has been sent off. 1 attach a copy of
Plekhanov’s letter. I’ll mail all documents tomorrow or the day after.
Iluysmans promised to mail a copy of the Liquidators’ statement
from Brussels. I’ll mail the Organising Committee’s report tomorrow.
They distributed a pamphlet on Russian affairs published, 1 think,
in Basle, but no one aside from Kautsky looked at any Russian liter-
ature. I distributed all the documents you had sent me, including the
sheet of the Warsaw Committee...”

On December 15, Litvinov wrote to Lenin and Krupskaya again:

“Dear friends, I was in a hurry yesterday to make the postal
train. Sent you a telegram this morning. It was too late sending
it last night. Now I will deal at greater length with the highlights
of yesterday’s sitting.

“There was nothing we could do. Everything had been arranged
beforehand: to prevent a discussion, and to get by with a resolution
on the desirability of unity, to give half a vote to the Organising Com-
mittee, and the parliamentary vote to the Seven (according to the
Rules). The Bureau would have endorsed anything Kautsky proposed.
In the afternoon, various questions surfaced on changing the represen-
tation in the Bureau and at the congress. Iluysmans had had to say the
Organising Committee ^ad submitted a plea. It would be only fair, he
said, to give Plekhanov’s half-vote to the Org. Com. and the 1SB. He
expected everyone to a^gree with that. He wanted to go on to the next
item on the agenda when I protested and asked for the floor. Kautsky
said that if the question started a discussion, it should be dealt with
along with other matters. That is what they did, and put it off until
the very end. Plekhanov’s letter had, naturally, simplified things for
the Org. Com. by creating a vacancy. 1 can’t tell if Plekhanov will have
the sense to withdraw in time, but I assume he had been informed
of the decision.

“The Russian affair was dealt with last, half an hour before the
scheduled closing of the sitting, when people were already preparing
to leave, and delegates had begun whispering to each other. I seemed
to manage to win attention by raising my voice, but was soon stopped
by Vandervelde. I managed to say that in general I sided with
Kautsky’s resolution (before the PPS amendment) and welcomed the
International’s readiness to look into the substance of our differences.
This, 1 said, could be done only by raising the matter at a Congress,
but that we had no intention whatever to enter into any agreement
with “all Social-Democrats” (as Kautsky had said at first), let alone
with the various Social- Democratic groups, namely, those that were
abroad, etc. I said only the two currents that were at loggerheads in
Russia should be reckoned with, and that I doubted that any agree-
ment was possible between the Central Committee and the Organis-
ing Committee; I advised beginning with the Duma faction in order

to prevent any widening of the split.

“I was not given a chance to retort to Rosa Luxemburg. She
reprimanded Kautsky for burying the RSDLP by suggesting that the
ISB should address itself to all the Social- Democratic movement and
build a new party, although the party had been united only recently
and should merely be restored. She swore that a new party in Russia
could never be built (sic!). Kautsky replied that the Social-Democratic
movement in Russia had not died, and that, on the contrary, it was
stronger than ever, but that the former party, allegedly, was no more
His speech had sceptical overtones to the effect that the International
was not strong enough to make anyone unite, and that only the Rus-
sian proletariat, if it so wished, was able to accomplish unification.
The only thing that could be done was to register the differences, and
to have a judgement about them when necessary. If, on the other
hand, there were no major differences, and personalities obstructed
unity, then, too, only the public opinion of the Russian proletariat
could cope with them.

“He added that in his opinion our differences were less substantial
than those within the German and French Social-Democratic move-
ments. In general, his resume was reminiscent of that of a British
judge; either, or. He made a concession to Rosa Luxemburg by adding
‘who recognise the programme of the Russian party’ (which is non-
existent!) after the words ‘Social-Democrats’. He also adopted the
amendment of the PPS, and 1 was naturally pleased. Let them try
to reconcile Rosa with the PPS and the Bund. I think it would have
been worse without Kautsky’s resolution. Rosa would probably
have submitted a more cautious and deleterious one. Considering the
climate of indifference and the continuous looking at watches, they

would have passed any resolution so long as it mentioned unity. 1
wanted to make a few more amendments, but they did not let me,
and pointed to the clock. 1 only managed to briefly motivate our op-
position to the affiliation of the Organising Committee and read out
a declaration on the Duma faction. Kautsky’s resolution was adopted
unanimously.

“What I haven’t remembered to say, you will now be able to ob-
tain when Huysmans addresses you.

“The Liquidators’ statements (a whole pile of them, most probably
objections to our report) were not made public. Ask Huysmans for
them or, if you like, I’ll ask him.

“They fussed about endlessly both days... If you want my by-line
for the Pravda report, put Litvinov...

“That seems to be. all. I’d like to know what you think of the re-
sults, that is, of Kautsky’s resolution...”*

Litvinov’s performance at the session of the International Social-
ist Bureau yielded good results. Certainly, it was more than he could
do to sway the leaders of the Second International into backing the
anti-war line of Lenin and his followers. But the documents of the Po-
ronin Conference, coupled with Litvinov’s own interventions at the
session and his talks with some of the delegates, helped convey the
true facts about the situation in the RSDLP to many European
Social-Democratic parties.

But there was still a lot to be done in that respect.

In the spring of 1914, William and Norgatc gave up publishing
translated books, and Litvinov lost his job. The publishers said they
regretted losing so competent a reader, but had no other choice.

In April, the matter of Litvinov’s dismissal from the publishing
house was settled for good. This was unfortunate. A congress of the
International Socialist Bureau was about to open in Vienna, and, as re-
solved at the London conference, it would examine the Russian affair.
In general, Huysmans was right when he told Litvinov that the
Russian question would be squashed. But this was not easy to accom-
plish. Neither Huysmans, nor Kautsky, nor Vandervelde, nor any
other leader of the Second International, or the lot of them together,
could simply “write off” one of the biggest working-class parties that
had, moreover, carried out a revolution (the First Russian Revolu-
tion of 1905 — Tr.) which had evoked a worldwide response.

* I.enin commented on Kautsky’s resolution in an article entitled, “A Good
Resolution and a Bad Speech” (V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 19, Progress
Publishers, Moscow, 1977, pp. 528-530).

The Russian question was put on the Vienna agenda to ostensibly
demonstrate the wish to help the Russian working class. And Lenin
felt that the opportunity should be used to let the public know the
Bolshevik view of the situation in the Party. He therefore insisted
that Litvinov should attend the congress, knowing that he would cope
with the job and would, besides, provide exhaustive, discerning, and
objective information about it.

Litvinov was aware that he would have to go, and prepared for
it, collecting facts for his speech, and following all developments in
the Social-Democratic parties. But that did not mean he was eager to
go to Vienna, for he did not expect any good to come of the con-
gress. Besides, he did not have the requisite cash.

After a while, he let Lenin know about it. “Dear friend,” he wrote,
“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to go to Vienna. Can’t take a vacation be-
cause my term of employment runs out in three weeks. I’ll be free
in June and July- free of all money, too. It follows that I cannot
afford the trip. You are better informed about the safety aspect.
I think I’d be safe enough. Frankly, I have no wish to sit alongside
old man Axelrod. There is no such thing as equality of Bureau mem-
bers. Some can do anything, others can’t. Out of all of us Bolsheviks
you alone would have influence in the Bureau. There will be argu-
ments and a divergence of votes. Will there be any conference on the
Russian question at the ISB Executive? 1 would conquer my personal
disinclination if it were necessary, but let me repeat, it is impossible
owing to hard cash...”

The Commission for Russian Affairs was dragging its feet. It was
still not known exactly when the conference in Vienna would open.
Litvinov was discharged from the publishing house at the end of May,
and immediately accepted an offer from a London tourist office.
A few days later he left for Brussels, where he was to take charge
of a group of Russian teachers on a tourist trip. They would first
tour Belgium, then leave for France, and from there for England.
This was convenient for Litvinov. He assumed that from France
he would manage to go to Switzerland for a few' days, w'here he
W'anted to meet his friends and make arrangements with Kuklin’s
Library about literature for his London organisation of Bolshe-
viks.

Litvinov arrived in Brussels in early June. The tourist party was a
small one, mainly of teachers from various provinces. For several
days, Litvinov conducted the tourists round Brussels, showed them
the museums, the town hall, and the parks, went with them to
Liege, and from there intended to leave for France. But the shot
at Sarajevo broke up the peace. The First World War had begun. With

great difficulty, Litvinov sent his disappointed tourists across Sweden
to Russia, and himself returned to London.

In the British capital crowds of people in the streets gave a raptu-
rous welcome to the soldiers. Blaring bands, cheers, flowers-that
was London at the time. The newspapers whipped up chauvinist
frenzy. The Socialists in Belgium, France, and Britain joined the
governments of their countries.

The situation on the front lines was developing unfavourably
for the Allies of the Entente Cordiale. The Germans were rolling
on towards the Marne. They were beginning to threaten Paris. At the
cost of enormous losses the Russian armies in the east drew off several
German army corps. The war became positional.

The press kept whipping up patriotism over the boys in the
trenches. At first, this seemed to help. Then people grew accustomed
to it. A spy craze began. Spies were seen everywhere- among refugees,
among Englishmen who happened to have lived for some time in
Germany, and among the Russian emigres.

The war created a mass of complications for the Russian colonies
in Europe and severed communications between them. Many emi-
gres left for America. Some made their way to Scandinavia. All was
quiet there. In the British Isles and in neutral Switzerland, the Russian
colonies grew rapidly in size. Many Russian political emigres headed
there from France, Belgium, and other countries on the continent.
Georgy Chicherin and other prominent Russian revolutionaries arrived
in London from Belgium.

Chicherin was already widely known in the European working-class
movement. His brilliant education, his versatility and other qualities qui-
ckly brought him great popularity in emigre circles and in British society.

Were Litvinov and Chicherin acquainted before Chicherin’s arrival
in London? Needless to say, they had been so for some time, since
about 1904. But their meetings were few and far between. In 1906 in
Belgium, then again in Paris. Now- they met once more. This time they
lived in the same city, and were able to associate for four years. They
saw each other fairly often at the Herzen Circle where they discussed
world affairs. The Bolsheviks were glad to notice that the war and the
betrayal of the leaders of the Second International had prompted
Chicherin to revise his views. Gradually, he began to gravitate towards
the Bolshevik outlook.

In those early years of the war, Chicherin and Litvinov also met
from time to time at Feitclson’s. On Sundays, the London business-
man gave big dinners for fifteen to twenty guests. English people also
used to look in.

These dinners had no element of English stiffness. There were
noisy debates in the dining-room and the political news was loudly
discussed. The guests gathered slowly. Those who came late were
served soup while those who had come earlier were already having
the dessert. This prompted lots of wisecracks.

Once, during the usual dinner a very motley company happened
to assemble in Feitelson’s flat. At the appointed hour, as usual, all
sat down at the table, but the voices of three debaters who were
passionately discussing international affairs could still be heard
coming from the host’s study. They belonged to Chicherin, Litvi-
nov, and an Englishman named Simon*. The offended hostess could
not stand it any longer and said to her guests in a loud voice, “To
listen to those young men, you would think they were foreign mi-
nisters!”

It never occurred to Mrs. Ida Feitelson that these words were pro-
phetic in the case of all three.

Soon after the outbreak of war, the tsarist government, asserting
its rights as an ally, demanded that Britain should send Russian sub-
jects back home for call-up into the army. The military authorities
ordered all Russian emigres to report. Litvinov was also summoned.
The English officer who questioned him for a long time about his
past, and so on, was about to complete the formalities for Litvinov’s
despatch, but realised that Litvinov would be under threat of a tsarist
trial, and let him go. As it was, no Russian emigre was in fact sent
from England to Russia to die for the Tsar, owing this to the influence
of the Labour Party.

Since the tourist agency had closed down, Litvinov had to find
another job. It wasn’t easy. A stream of refugees flooded in from Bel-
gium in the first weeks of the war, and the British government ar-
ranged for them to be given job priority as victims of the German
invasion. Litvinov got himself fixed up with great difficulty as a
commercial traveller for a firm selling agricultural machinery.

The war created many a new problem. Preparations began for a
conference of the Socialists of the Entente countries at the end
of 1914. Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries were invited
to represent Russia. The Bolshevik group in London protested. It
pointed out that the Mensheviks had not been authorised by anyone,
and their presence would be contrary to the will of the workers
in Russia. Lenin held that the least opportunity to expose the oppor-

* Sir John Simon (1873-1954), British Foreign Secretary from 1931 to
1935.

tunists should be used, and asked Litvinov to speak at the confe-
rence.

In early January 1915 it became known that the conference would
gather in London not later than the first week of February. Lenin sent
Litvinov the draft of a Bolshevik declaration which he was to make
public at the conference.

Like all Russian emigre revolutionaries Litvinov lived from hand
to mouth. On February 4, 1915, the Times printed a Russian Her-
zen Circle account concerning contributions in aid cf Russian revo-
lutionaries. The Military Fund for Aid to Russians contributed £170,
and the New York Aid Fund £20.10.8. Further down the list were
contributions from private persons: the well-known actress Lydia
Yavorskaya (Princess Baryatinskaya) who was stranded in London owing
to the war, contributed £430.11.4, that is, the proceeds from per-
formances of Anna Karenina on her British tour; Fanny Stcpnyak,
widow of the famous Russian revolutionary Narodnik Stepnyak-
Kravchinsky £3.15; Nikolai Klyshko £1.10; Mrs. Rothstein, wife of
Fyodor Rothstein, later one of the founders of the British Com-
munist Party and future Soviet plenipotentiary in Iran, then membci
of the Soviet Foreign Commissariat’s collegium and member of
the USSR Academy of Sciences 10 shillings, and, lastly, Litvinov
2 shillings.

As honorary secretary of the Herzen Circle, Litvinov publicly
reported to the Times all previous contributions and made the follow-
ing announcement: “The total sum collected by January 31 was
£663.9.6. The Committee of the Herzen Circle sends its sincere thanks
to all who made these contributions. Subsequent donations may be
sent to Mme Fanny Stepnvak at Carlton House Terrace, Childs
Hill. N.W.”

In the evenings at the Charlotte Street club, the semi-starved emi-
gres were served coffee, buns and sandwiches prepared by Rothstein’s
wife, Anna. As usual, they argued deep into the night.

On February 14, 1915, the conference of the Socialist parties
of the Entente countries opened. Litvinov found himself in a highly
embarrassing position. As a representative of the Bolsheviks, he had
not been invited. This had been done intentionally, so as to gag the
Russian internationalists. Lenin’s assignment was in jeopardy. So
Litvinov did what he would do years later at the League of Nations
and at international conferences whenever it was vitally necessary
to make the Bolshevik standpoint known to the world at large: he
turned up without an invitation, demanded the right to speak, and
when the flabbergasted chairman tried to prevent him from making
his address, Litvinov simply went to the platform and began speaking.

He was not allowed to finish, but the Bolshevik position was made
clear to the delegates.

' Here is what Litvinov made public:

DECLARATION OF THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE
OF THE RSDLP

AS PRESENTED TO THE LONDON CONFERENCE

Citizens, your conference calls itself a conference of the So-
cialist Parties of the belligerent Allied countries of Belgium, Bri-
tain, France, and Russia. Allow me first of all to draw attention to
the fact that the Social-Democratic Party of Russia, as an organised
whole represented by the Central Committee and affiliated to the
International] Socialist] Bureau, has received no invitation from
► you. The Russian Social-Democrats, whose views have been

expressed by members of the Russ[ian] S[ocial] Democratic]
Labour Faction in the Duma, arrested at the present time by the
tsarist government (Petrovsky, Muranov, Samoilov, Badayev,
and Shagov- rep resenting the workers of the St. Petersburg, Yeka-
tcrinoslav, Kharkov, Kostroma, and Vladimir gub[crnias]) have
nothing in common with your conference. We hope that you will
announce this publicly so as not to be subjected to the accusa-
tion of having falsified the truth.

Permit me now to say a few words on the goal of your con-
ference, that is, to say what the politically conscious Social-
Democratic workers of Russia have been expecting of you.

We think that before entering into any discussion of the pro-
blem of restoring the International, before trying to restore the in-
ternational ties between the Socialist workers, our Socialist duty
compels us to demand;

1) That Vanderveldc, Cuesde and Sembat should immediately
leave the bourgeois ministries of Belgium and France.

2) That the Belgian and French Socialist Parties should break
the so-called “national bloc” which is a renunciation of the Social-
ist banner and serves as cover for the orgies of chauvinism being
practised by the bourgeoisie.

3) That all the Socialist Parties should abandon their policy of
ignoring the crimes of Russian tsarism and should renew their sup-
port for the struggle against tsarism of the workers of Russia, who

„ do not shrink from any sacrifice whatever.

4) That in fulfilment of the resolutions of the Basle Congress,
it should be announced that we are offering our hand to those
revolutionary Social-Democrats of Germany and Austria who rc-

6-01072 81

■

plied to the declaration of war by preparing propaganda of revo-
lutionary action. The voting of war credits must be uncondition-
ally condemned.

The Social-Democrats of Germany and Austria have committed
a monstrous crime against Socialism and the International by vot-
ing war credits and concluding a “civic peace” with the Junkers,
priests, and bourgeoisie, but the Belgian and French Socialists
have behaved no better. We fully understand that circumstances
are possible when the Socialists, being in the minority, are forced
to submit to the bourgeois majority, but under no circumstances
should Socialists cease to be Socialists and join the chorus of bour-
geois chauvinists, or forget their working-class cause and join
bourgeois ministries.

The German and Austrian Socialists arc committing a great
crime against Socialism when, following the example of the bour-
geoisie, they hypocritically assert that the Hohenzollerns and the
Ilapsburgs arc waging a war of liberation “from tsarism”.

But no less a crime is being committed by those who say that
tsarism is becoming more democratic and civilised, who evade the
fact that tsarism is strangling and destroying unhappy Galicia
exactly as the German Kaiser is strangling and destroying Belgium—
and those who are silent about the fact that the tsarist gang has
thrown into prison the parliamentary representatives of the work-
ing class of Russia and only recently condemned several Moscow
workers to six years’ penal servitude merely for belonging to the
S[ocial]-D[emocratic] Party; that tsarism is oppressing Finland
worse than before, that the workers’ papers and the workers’ organi-
sations in Russia have been closed down, that the thousands of mil-
lions of roubles required to continue the war arc being wrested by
the tsarist clique from the starving peasants and destitute workers.

The workers of Russia hold out a hand of comradeship to the
Socialists who are taking action, like Karl Liebknecht, like the So-
cialists of Serbia and Italy, like the British comrades from the
Independent] Lab[our] Party and several members of the Brit-
ish Socialist Party, and like our arrested comrades from the
Russian] S[ocial]-D[emocratic] Lab[our] Party.

We call you to this path, the path of Socialism.

Down with the chauvinism that is destroying the proletarian
cause! Long live international Socialism!

In the name of the CC of the Russian] S[ocial]-D[emocratic]
Labour Party,

M. Maximovich

London, 14 February] 1915

On February 19, Litvinov sent Lenin and Krupskaya a detailed
account of the conference:

“Dear friends, you have probably received rqy registered letter and
the newspaper clippings about the conference. I have seen none of the
people at the conference. All I know is that the Left Socialist-Revolu-
tionaries (Chernov and Natanson) did not vote for the resolution.
According to Natanson, the Labourites, too, were disinclined to vote,
but Vandervelde had ‘so touchingly pleaded, with tears in his eyes,
for them to save Belgium, that the Englishmen couldn’t help them-
selves’. No, the Labourites are unreliable allies and we arc sure to part
ways with them soon. They want the International convened together
with the Germans and Austrians, but the BSP is rather in favour
of a private and secret conference of just ‘certain people’. They even
consider Sunday’s conference too official. They have evidently decid-
ed to hush up my withdrawal, but all the papers referred to the irre-
concilable attitude of the Russian Social-Democrats. Justice, how-
ever, confused us with the Socialist-Revolutionaries; it mistakes the
Left Socialist-Revolutionaries for the RSDLP. I’ll send a note to
Justice about it. Our declaration is printed neither in Justice nor in
the Labout Leader. Sending you a few copies of my declaration. Have
sent copies to America, the International Socialist Bureau, and Ale-
xander 36 in Holland. There’s a strong movement in the BSP against
the policy of its leaders (Hyndman & Co). There had been a scries
of local conferences. The one in London was anti-chauvinist and cen-
sured the Central Committee and Justice. The results of the provin-
cial conferences are still unknown. But the resolutions are probably
worse than that of the Londoners. When you’ll write to the Central
Organ about the conference, don’t forget to say the Central Com-
mittee of the Latvian Social-Democrats sided whole-heartedly with
our declaration. Berzins will probably have to fight Braun on this
score, but formally Berzins was the only one to represent the Central
Committee. Let me know what you think of the conference. If 1 had
known the agenda beforehand, 1 should have begun the declaration
by dealing with it item by item, and would then have been able to
read all of the declaration...”

On March 29, 1915, in the Sotsial-Demokrat, Lenin printed an
article on the London conference, exposing the social-chauvinists
who had betrayed the working class. He lauded Litvinov: “The
declaration we are publishing made by Comrade Maximovich, repre-
sentative of the Central Committee of the RSDLP, gives full expres-
sion to the views of the Party on this conference... Comrade Maximo-
vich carried out his task in speaking specifically about the treachery
of the German Socialists.”

Only one truthful voice about the imperialist war was heard
at the London conference. It was the voice of Litvinov, who had
attended, on Lenin’s instructions, to make public the anti-war
declaration of the CC of the RSDLP.

After the London conference, Litvinov toured all the colonies of
Russians in Britain and made speeches on the Party's new tasks.
Lenin wanted him to expose chauvinists of all calibres, and asked him
to publish his pamphlet. Socialism and War, in London.

On July 28, 1915, Litvinov wrote to Lenin and Krupskaya in
Switzerland:

“Dear friends, I have received your letter of the 20th and have
given Alexander (Shlyapnikov-Z. S.) £41 sterling on the basis of your
power of attorney.... I would advise you to publish the pamphlet* in
English in the United States, it’s a risk in England and, what’s more,
will cost a lot of money. I feel very pessimistic about our European
sympathisers, the so-called left opposition. They won’t stay long by
our side until events give them a push or, rather, pull them along in
their train. Let me know the size of the pamphlet .and the number
of copies, and I will send you an estimate.”

The Party’s financial affairs in London and the skimpy funds
of Lenin and Krupskaya, which they had been paid for their writ-
ings, were also being managed by Litvinov. He disposed of them on
Lenin's instructions.

Life was becoming more and more difficult for the Russian colony
in London; the police were watching every move of the Russian
emigres.

In the summer of 1915, Phyllis Klyshko was summoned to the po-
lice station, where they asked her about her lodger. The chief, Basil
Thompson, questioned her at length about Litvinov— what places he
frequented, whom he met, what he talked about, and who came to
see him. Phyllis said that she had not noticed anything reprehensible
about Litvinov and that he was in general a fine man, very puncti-
lious and polite. Not only was Phyllis in the dark about Litvinov’s
Party activities, but she did not even know that her husband was a
Bolshevik and that he had a Party code name.

The chief of the CID let Phyllis go. Then two civilians in identical
navy blue suits and identical hats turned up at the Klyshkos’ flat.
They took Litvinov away to the station, where Thompson questioned
him about who visited Klyshko. Litvinov replied not very amiably
that he had been living at the Klyshkos’ for two years and had been
availing himself of political asylum in England for seven years. As far

* The reference is to Lenin’s Socialism and War.

as he k..ew, the granting of political asylum to emigres was fully in
the spirit of British democracy. Thompson did not say anything,
and then went over to the main reason why Litvinov had been sent
for. He began questioning him about his correspondence with Lenin
and about the activities of the Bolshevik group. Litvinov realised at
once what this was about: the police department had not given up its
intention of forcing the Bolsheviks to leave London. He told Thomp-
son that he was not violating any wartime regulations, and that he
would inform the MPs about the interrogation.

Thompson let Litvinov go, hinting that their conversation was
not over. Litvinov wrote about the interrogation to Lenin at Sorcn-
berg near Lucerne, where Lenin and Krupskaya were living at the
time:

“Dear friend, 1 received your postcard yesterday, that is, on the
11th day (...) 1 was sent for by the chief of the local police and
questioned about my views, my past, and my correspondence
with you.”

Lenin replied at once, but this time, too, the letter was very
late arriving. Then their correspondence stopped entirely for a time.
Litvinov wrote to Berne, w'here Lenin and Krupskaya proposed to
move from Sorcnberg, but the letters were returned to the sender.

Litvinov was alarmed. He was beset on all sides by difficult pro-
blems, and he needed Lenin’s advice and support as never before.

Towards the end of the summer of 1916, a postcard at last arrived
from Lenin. He wanted news about the 1SB and asked Litvinov to
send him the addresses of certain comrades who had left for England
after the outbreak of war. He mentioned that Krupskaya had fallen ill.

Litvinov immediately wrote back to Lenin in Zurich:

“I was extremely glad to receive your postcard. 1 have been feeling
cut off from you. Wrote you at Shklovsky’s address in Berne, but the
letters came back marked “Addressee Unknown’. Distressed to hear
of Krupskaya’s illness.

“You will learn about matters here from the newspapers, no
doubt. There is not the slightest hint of Zimmerwald here. 1 am not
taking part in the work of the section. Nor is there any work being
done. We are all living here under the sword of Damocles. There
w’ill probably be no expulsions, but the troubles are going to be con-
siderable. The Berzins are in America and will write to you from
there.

“Write, and tell me how things are. Warm greetings to you and
Krupskaya.”

In the late autumn of 1916 public opinion in London, St. Peters-
burg, Paris, and other European capitals was aroused by the “peace

proposals” that Chancellor Theobald Bethman Hollweg of Germany
had made to the Entente. The Allied press wrote of Kaiser Wilhelm’s
Sedan: Germany’s defeat was a foregone conclusion; clearly, the
Kaiser and his generals wanted to save the country from surrender
and defeat, thus to retain strength for a war of revenge.

The German move was strongly rebuffed in the Allied capitals. The
London Morning Post wrote that a cease-fire at that moment would
be a betrayal of civilisation. The Allies, it said, should remember their
responsibility for sparing future generations the horrors of war.

The Kaiser’s manoeuvre and the Allied response eliminated any
remaining doubts as to the predatory nature of the war. Lenin
requested the Bolshevik groups abroad to supply him information
about the mood in the belligerent countries. Litvinov sent him ex-
tracts from the London papers. Alexandra Kollontai 37 wrote to Zu-
rich, suggesting an international teachers’ conference to which friends
from the Russian colony in London could be invited. Litvinov started
organising a delegation, but it did not reach its destination.

In 1916, a big event occurred in the life of Maxim Litvinov: he
married Ivy Lowe, a young English writer. It had been an uneasy
decision for him to make. He was forty, but still ruled out any
thought of a family because of his unsettled life. Yet his friends kept
prompting him, and jested about his bachelor’s life. One of his close
friends once asked Litvinov “Are you going to get married one of
these days, Maxim?” Litvinov unexpectedly replied, “Yes, soon.
But she’s a bourgeoise.” A few weeks later, he married the “bour-
geoise”, and lived a happy 3 5 years with her.

They had met at a friend’s house. Then at a gathering of the
Fabian Society. Litvinov was impressed by her knowledge of Tolstoy
and Chekhov. Putting on weight, red-haired, of average height,
well-mannered, and not very talkative, he made a big impression on
the young writer. Her mother, the daughter of a colonel in the British
Army, naturally wanted a different match for her daughter and cer-
tainly did not want to see her married to an insecure emigre from
Russia. As for his religious background, Ivy Lowe simply never gave
it a thought. She was herself from a family of Hungarian Jews who
had taken part in the Kossuth 38 uprising; in her girlhood she had been
a Protestant, then had been converted to Catholicism. The choice
of religion was her private affair and concerned no one else.

Financial worries were making themselves felt. Ivy Lowe had some
small savings, earned by writing. Litvinov continued working as agent
for a firm selling agricultural machinery. But he had to find additional
earnings. Ivy was expecting a baby.

The Litvinovs settled in South Hill Park, in a house belonging to
Belgian refugees. Friends sometimes gathered there in the evenings
to discuss the political news; then an argument would flare up, de-
veloping into a fierce squabble. It always seemed to Ivy that her hus-
band and his guests would any moment start flinging chairs at one
another. At the very height of the dispute, when it was almost at boil-
ing-point, she would leave the kitchen, go into the room, and
announce that tea or coffee was ready. The disputants would calm
down and drink their tea in peace.

Ivy Lowe, now Ivy Litvinova, was not interested in and did not
understand the political activities of her husband and his friends.
To her, it was an alien world. In London, after the October Revolu-
tion, she asked her husband if he knew Lenin. Maxim replied that he
had known Lenin for a long time. But she had no idea that letters
from Lenin were coming to their house and that her flat was the
headquarters of Bolshevik emigres.

It was nearing the end of 1916, the third year of the world carnage.
At the fronts, they went on killing, maiming, mangling people, de-
stroying cities and human hopes. The Paris and London newspapers
called for new efforts to put an end to the Kaiser’s army. In Russia
the papers said the best reply to the Kaiser’s peace offer was to sub-
scribe to the war loan. They reported the appearance of flying ma-
chines over the battlefields.

The public read the despatches from the front with excitement.
Their nature was determined not by the talent but by the mood
of the war correspondents. The twenty-five-ycar-old Ilya Ehrenburg
wrote in an article, “Russia in Champagne”, published in the Birzbe-
viye Vedomosti of December 19: “There have been rains. The calm,
grey-green Marne is in spate, and the little streams have flooded
the meadows; here and there, now the top of a fence, now a scare-
crow stands up out of the water. I am travelling north, into the
interior, into the heart of Champagne. It is a mild autumn day; a
weak and timid ray of sunlight breaks through the fluffy clouds.
In the west are hills with terraced vineyards, and beyond them is
Reims...

“A few minutes later, I wander round the little streets of M. It
is a big village, partly destroyed by the Germans... It’s like being in a
traditional Russian village: everywhere there are inscriptions in Rus-
sian, even on the shops. Everywhere you see Russian faces and hear
Russian speech... Soldiers crowd into a shop in which beer, sugar,
sausage, and bananas are on sale.

“ ‘We’re from different places,’ the soldiers explain, ‘so there’s

people from Livny, and people from Yelets, and that one over there
is pure Voronezh. We were tossed about on the sea for eighteen days,

I thought 1 was going to give up my soul to my Maker, but we got
here in the end...’

“We went to a little Russian chapel, recently built. The Mother
of God looked down at us tranquilly from the wall... Lessen my
grief... Like the prodigal son, 1 refuse to think either of the past or
the future, either of Paris or of Spain, and keep saying, Father 1 have
sinned.”

In St. Petersburg at the Alexandrinsky Theatre the comedies of
Prince Sumbatov were being performed. Rachmaninov was giving re-
citals, and a St. Petersburg newspaper critic wrote that in his music
one heard ‘the tread of a soldier going into battle”. But it was not
St. Petersburg’s Nevsky Prospekt that determined the state of war-
torn Russia, nor did the reports from the front say anything about
the nation’s hopes and aspirations. A new revolution was brewing.
Already imminent was the downfall of a regime built on the blood
and tears of the people, a regime against which Lenin and his Party
had been stirring Russia up for 20 years.

Litvinov saw in the New Year of 1917 at his flat. His closest friends
had come. They sat at table looking solemn and a little sad. They were
thinking about Russia. About the future. Big Ben struck midnight in
the distance. And all looked at their pocket watches. The New Year
had arrived. It came inaudibly, and no one could yet foretell the
thunderstorms it was going to bring. 1 hey talked of prisons escapes,
and rendezvous. Then they remembered that they were gathered at
Litvinov’s home for the first time since he had been married. All
shouted “Bitter! Bitter!” making Litvinov and Ivy kiss to sweeten the
“bitter” drinks as the Russian custom demands of newlyweds.

The Russians sat for a long time that night in London at 86 South
Hill, in the flat of Litvinov, secretary of the Bolshevik group. Some-
one said, “Maxim, if there should be a revolution over there, back
home, you will be ambassador of the Russian Republic in England.”

The new year, it seemed, had changed nothing. Recruits were
still being sent from London to France and Salonika. The newspapers
wrote that the majority of the population in all the Allied countries
preferred to step up the sacrifices they were making, but would not
submit to a premature peace with Germany. The Germans were
being told, on the other hand, that the war would be won. The bur-
ghers now prayed not only for the Kaiser, but for Hindcnburg as well.
In Berlin and other cities, they made nails with golden heads to be
hammered into a wooden statue of Hindcnburg. They believed that

when the wooden Field Marshal was covered with gold, Germany
would win the war.

In mid-February, Litvinov drove his wife to hospital, and on the
night of February 17, she gave birth to a son. The Middlesex Re-
gistry Office recorded the event strictly according to the rules, indicat-
ing that the father of the child, who was named Mikhail, was a Rus-
sian emigre, translator Maxim Litvinov, and the mother was Ivy Lowe,
a British subject.

Litvinov was now dividing his time between the hospital and the
Herzen Circle, where news was awaited with impatience. But only
meagre information came from Russia. Litvinov met Labour MPs and
tried to find something out from them. They either shrugged their
shoulders or said, “Russia is a loyal ally. Of course, there are many
malcontents there, but all of them want victory.” Then, news from
Russia stopped coming in altogether. Something was happening there.

On March 16 (New Style) the thunderstorm broke. Litvinov was
at home when friends came rushing in with newspapers. A week
before, the revolution had made the Tsar abdicate! Litvinov went
to the Houses of Parliament and demanded an immediate interview
with Lloyd George. He was unable to meet the Prime Minister, how-
ever, and asked Labour MPs to announce the news of the revolu-
tion in Russia.

On that day, Zeppelins raided London. Litvinov hurried to the
Russian Embassy and demanded of the ambassador, Nabokov, that he
should immediately take down the portrait of Tsar Nicholas II and
the tsarist coat-of-arms from the embassy building. The portrait and
coat-of-arms were removed.

When Litvinov arrived at the club in Charlotte Street, there was
pandemonium inside. Emigres had arrived with their children and
were embracing and congratulating one another. On the next day,
congratulatory telegrams began arriving from the Russian colonies
in Switzerland, France, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. The Russians
were jubilant. In the evening, they left the club in Charlotte Street
for a stroll round nocturnal London. On Regent Street, they sang
songs, danced, embraced, and shouted “Hurrah!” With mixed feelings
of fear and bewilderment, passers-by looked at the deliriously over-
joyed Russians and decided that the Kaiser must have surrendered.
It was explained to them that a different Kaiser had surrendered, the
Russian one, and forever.

On the next day, Litvinov, inspired by the course of events,
dictated his notes to his wife, heading them, From the Diary of
a Russian Emigre.

Here they are:

“March 17, London.

“I went to bed yesterday much excited. The news 1 have had seems
to have opened the flood-gates in my brain. The stream of thoughts
would not let me sleep all night. I could not stay in bed and jumped
out at six in the morning, burning with impatience to see the papers
as soon as possible. Is this really the People’s Revolution? The lines
of newsprint danced before my eyes. In my joy, I could not force
myself to read everything consecutively, so 1 skipped to the end of the
paragraph, now glanced at the middle of another— I seemed to want
to gulp down the news all at once! 1 don’t remember how the morning
passed. Somehow 1 automatically got through the morning routine.
I tried to shave with tooth powder, then sat in an empty bath and for-
got to turn on the tap. Did 1 have breakfast that day? I don’t remem-
ber.

“What joy, what joy! Is it really impossible for me to go to Russia?
At once? I dashed off to the Russian Consulate to apply for a pass-
port, but bored officials informed me that they had received no in-
structions, and that I must apply to the Home Office, etc. etc.

“What am I to do? Apply by telephone to the Provisional Govern-
ment for permission to leave? But they have more important things
to deal with than my return to Russia. 1 remembered how in 1905 I
felt sorry for my comrades in exile when they could not be with me
to watch the joyous spectacle of revolutionary events. Now I am in
the same predicament; Incredible happiness and incredible pain.
What a tragedy— to spend half one’s life in...”

At this point the notes break off.

After the February Revolution, a Delegates’ Committee was set
up in London to assist in the return of emigres to Russia. Chicherin
became its secretary.

The fall of the autocracy had opened the way home for the emi-
gres. London at once became the centre of attraction for the count-
less Russian colonies scattered all over Europe. It was difficult to get
through to Russia via Germany. There was one practical route— from
the British Isles across Scandinavia to Arkhangelsk or Pctrograd.

In March, London had already become a place of pilgrimage
for Russian emigres from France, Switzerland, and other countries.
The Delegates’ Committee took on the work of looking after the
new arrivals and their subsequent departure for Russia. The com-
mittee’s premises were on Charlotte Street in two small rooms. In the
first sat Chicherin, and in the second, Angela Nagel, daughter of
People’s Will member Ludwig Nagel, and Sokolova, a Social-Demo-
crat. When the World War broke out, Ludwig Nagel, being of German

origin, was sent to the sparsely populated Isle-of-Man. Angela had a
job in a factory and was closely connected with the Russian colony.
She was appointed Chicherin’s secretary.

The Russian emigres made their way to London by circuitous
routes as best they could. Many arrived with families and small child-
ren. Their passports were improvised or home-made, and they often
arrived without a penny in their pockets. They all had to be accom-
modated, fed, and sent on to Russia.

The main problem, finances, was solved quite simply. Chiche-
rin and Litvinov went to the representative of the Provisional Gov-
ernment, Nabokov, and insisted that he should put the resources
of the embassy at the disposal of the Delegates’ Committee. Nabo-
kov refused at first, but then gave in.

But there were other problems. It was not easy to find accommo-
dation in London, which was packed with refugees. The Delegates’
Committee made arrangements with the cheapest hotels in various
parts of the British capital.

There was tremendous activity in the two committee rooms.
Russians arrived every morning by steamship and train. Antonov-
Ovseyenko 39 and . Taratuta 40 arrived from Paris, and also other
revolutionaries. There was no limit to their joy. Friends who had lost
one another met after many years, and there were tears in their eyes.
Angela held the lists in her hands and called out the names of those
who were leaving. There and then, Chicherin and Litvinov seated at a
small table, paid out subsistence, hotel, and travel allowances. The
sum issued to the head of the family and his dependents, was entered
into the passport which was signed by Chicherin.

The route home was a complicated one. Communications with
Russia were maintained only by sea. The emigres were sent by train
to Aberdeen on the west coast. Groups of 30 to 40 left London
for Aberdeen every day. Chicherin came to the railway station to see
them off. He came in his old overcoat with a velvet collar and the
usual little attache case in one hand. The only steamer, the Vulture,
sailed almost regularly to the Norwegian port of Bergen. The war was
still raging and the ship was escorted by two destroyers. They sailed
on cither side, protecting it from German U-boats.

The first steamer carrying emigres hit a German mine and sank;
all on board perished. Fortunately, subsequent sailings to Norway
went off safely. The emigres left Norway for their homeland by
Russian or Norwegian steamers. Most of them had spent decades ab-
road after escaping from the dungeons of Akatui and Nerchinsk,
or from less known penal colonics. They were returning home white-
haired after many hardships and experiences. With them travelled the

younger generation, who had never seen Russia at all.

It was learned that Lenin and a group of Bolsheviks had left
for Petrograd. The London colony had also thinned out considerab-
ly. Litvinov was eager to go to Russia. He had told his wife a long time
before that if the drums of the revolution called him, he would imme-
diately drop everything and hurry back. But his son was only a few
weeks old and there was a flu epidemic in London. He had to wait.
He was dismayed because his heart u'as in Russia. And finally, after
hard weeks of uncertainty and confusion, when only vague infor-
mation was arriving from Russia, came news of Lenin’s return to
Petrograd and his speech at Finland Station.

Lenin’s April Theses gave an extremely clear picture of the situa-
tion: the bourgeois-democratic revolution must develop into a prole-
tarian, socialist revolution. One of the main slogans was make war
against war.

For Litvinov, Lenin’s April Theses were not simply a political
programme, they were practical instructions for action. He began
writing his first piece on the nature of the Russian revolution with-
out yet knowing what he was going to call it; but it would contain
an analysis of the 1905 revolution and the February revolution, while
the further content would be prompted by the events. History itself
would write the final chapters! And he would publish the book
in London.

In the turmoil of those days when, it seemed, not a free moment
was left, Litvinov negotiated with the future publishers, the Labou-
rites. Yes, they were ready to publish his book, but it depended on
the contents. He contacted E. C. Fairchild, a Labour MP, who agreed
to write a foreword. But how inadequate and distorted was the new's
coming from Petrograd! The London Bolsheviks were virtually de-
prived of real information about what was happening in their homeland.

Meanwhile, Litvinov learned that the cruiser Varyag had arrived
in Liverpool for repairs, that same legendary Varyag.

This cruiser, scuttled by Russian sailors in 1904, had been raised
by the Japanese in 1905 and four years later had been taken into the
Japanese Navy under the name Soya. At the height of the First
World War, the tsarist government bought the Varyag from Japan
along with two other warships, the Cbesna and Peresvet. Sailing by
southern sea routes, they set out from Vladivostok to Murmansk,
but the Peresvet never made it, hitting a German mine and blowing
up not far from Port Said. In November 1916, th c Cbesna and Varyag
arrived at Murmansk, where the Cbesna joined the line.

When he heard about the arrival of the Varyag, Litvinov rushed to
Liverpool. No one knows how he managed to get on board the war-

ship. But he spent twenty-four hours there, talked to the officers and
men, and made a speech to the crew. The senior officer glumly
announced to the crew that they were going to be addressed by
Maxim Litvinov, a representative of the Russian colony in London.
The men assembled on deck. It was the first time they were listen-
ing to a Bolshevik. He told them that a new life was dawning over
Russia. The Revolution was just beginning.

On August 7, agents of the secret service arrested Chicherin and
sent him to Brixton Prison. There had been nothing to indicate this
turn of events. The cause was a conversation that Chicherin had had
a short time previously with Nabokov. Chicherin was forced to visit
the former tsarist embassy, where he discussed with Nabokov the
various problems associated with sending emigres home. During one
such meeting, the conversation became political, and Chicherin spoke
harshly about Kerensky, Head of the Provisional Government. Chiche-
rin was particularly outraged by the policy of continuing the slaughter
of Russian soldiers. Kerensky was in no way better than Nicholas, said
Chicherin. The infuriated Nabokov reported this conversation to the
British authorities, and they availed themselves of this convenient op-
portunity to add other groundless charges.

Chicherin’s arrest took place under the following circumstances.
In the afternoon, as usual, he was in his room in Charlotte Street
on the premises of the Delegates’ Committee. Angela was drawing up
the latest list of departing emigres. A man walked quickly across
Angela’s small room. Without greeting her, he burst into Chicherin’s
office. He was English in appearance, a total stranger, since Angela
knew all the visitors, including the English.

The unexpected visitor soon left. An agitated Chicherin emerged
after him. He paced up and down the room for a long time, waving
his arms agitatedly as if arguing with himself, then asked Angela:

“D’you know who that was?”

“I can guess,” Angela replied.

‘‘A Secret Service agent. I’ve been arrested.”

This happened on a Saturday. The Secret Service, aware that Chi-
cherin could not leave Britain, behaved in a most “gentlemanly”
fashion. They didn’t want to “spoil” his week-end, and gave him three
days to wind up his affairs. He was to report to the prison on Tues-
day. Chicherin summoned the members of the Delegates’ Committee
and excitedly gave them all the details. On Tuesday Chicherin report-
ed in person to the police station, where he was awaited by a “gentle-
man” who escorted him to Brixton Prison.

Chicherin was permitted to send letters from prison once a month.

He did this on a piece of exercise-book paper. In his minute, neat
handwriting, he wrote down a mass of specific instructions and er-
rands, asked many questions to which he demanded an answer, and
forgot nothing. In one such letter, he instructed Angela to remit a sum
of money to Russia for his old nurse.

Litvinov spent days in the Labour Party office with the MPs, try-
ing to get Chicherin released from prison.

At the end of the summer, the Russian army mounted a success-
ful offensive in the south-west. The British government was still
eager to secure final victory over Germany at the cost of Russian
blood. The London papers extolled the “gallant allies” in Russia,
and hushed up the July events and the shooting of demonstrators
in Petrograd, and praised Kerensky to the skies.

But where was Lenin? Where were the other Bolshevik leaders?
The most contradictory news about them was reaching London;
confused and garbled messages about the July days made the search
for the truth even more difficult. Litvinov could see which way things
were heading. He had a superb grasp of the situation and wrote down
in the theses for his book: “Kerensky is preparing a new Bonaparte-
General Kornilov.” He closely followed the treacherous line of the
Mensheviks, especially Tsereteli and Chkhcidze, for those two he
knew particularly well. He gave a merited appraisal to the connivers
who were handing over power in Russia to the new Cavaignacs, as
he described the Menshevik leaders in his book.

It was from special editions of the London newspapers that Litvi-
nov learned about the historic events in Petrograd on October 25 (No-
vember 7). He began his book about the Great October Socialist
Revolution on the same day, as soon as the storming of the Winter
Palace became news and the entire bourgeois press flooded the world
with reports of “chaos” in Petrograd and all over Russia, predicting
the inevitable and swift collapse of the Revolution. He wrote it in
bursts during two exciting months— November and December 1917.

On the morning of January 3, 1918, Petrograd radio stations
broadcast an announcement from the Soviet Government that Lit-
vinov had been appointed Ambassador of the Russian Soviet Republic
to Great Britain. This announcement was published that day in the
London evening papers. In his Hampstead flat, Litvinov wrote his
first diplomatic note, in which he made known the decision of the
Council of People’s Commissars about his appointment and handed
it to Sir James Balfour, the British Foreign Secretary.

His life as a political emigre was over. Behind him lay twenty years
devoted to the Revolution. And what years! He had been through the

prisons of Russia, France, and Germany. He had been in the very
epicentre of events, at the heart of the Party’s activities, in the furnace
where victory was being forged. An agent of Iskra, a member of the
Kiev, Riga, and North-West Committees of the RSDLP, a member
with Lenin of the Bureau of the Majority Committee, a member of
the administration of the Foreign League of Russian Revolutionary
Social- Democracy, a leader of the transport organisation of the Bol-
sheviks, gun-runner assisting preparations for an armed uprising
in Russia, one of the creators of the first legal Bolshevik newspaper,
Novaya Zhizn, a representative of the CC of the RSDLP in the Inter-
national Socialist Bureau, delegate of the Third and quest of the Fifth
Party Congresses, secretary of the Bolshevik colony in London— these
are far from all the duties .fulfilled by Maxim Litvinov from 1898
to 1917.

There would be no more secret police who had referred to him
in its coded messages by one or another of his Party names, and in-
variably added “alias Litvinov”. There was only Maxim Maximovich
Litvinov, representative of the People’s Government of Soviet Russia
in London.

7-01072

Chapter 1

PEOPLE’S AMBASSADOR

Litvinov looked at the surrounding world with new eyes. London
was the same old London that had given him shelter after his expul-
sion from France— a huge city, foggy, its skies smoke-laden, its streets
familiar. In the previous nine years, Litvinov had walked them a thou-
sand times.

London was the same, but Litvinov’s position had changed. No
longer could he drop in at a pub that struck his fancy. No longer
could he take pictures of the homeless under the bridge. He represent-
ed a huge country— not simply Russia, but Soviet Russia.

Britain did not wish to recognise Bolshevik Russia: Foreign Sec-
retary Balfour would not see Litvinov. But he could not altogether re-
ject the note of a plenipotentiary envoy of a world power, and there-
fore received it through a junior Foreign Office official. Litvinov was
informed that Balfour would maintain contact with him through
a Rex Leeper, a young diplomat. That was the opening act in Lit-
vinov’s diplomatic career.

Towards the close of 1917, Litvinov occupied himself to get
Chicherin out of Brixton Prison, lie approached the Labourites
who had sympathy for Soviet Russia and for Chicherin himself.
Questions about the prisoner were asked in Parliament. The public
clamoured for his release. Indeed, there had been no legal grounds
for arresting him. The Soviet government announced that no Bri-
tish subject, not even Ambassador Sir George William Buchanan,
would be allowed to leave Russia until Chicherin was released.

Litvinov called at the Foreign Office to let Balfour know Mos-
cow was detaining Buchanan.

Downing Street wanted information about the situation in So-
viet Russia. It wanted this information from Buchanan. Besides,
it wanted to replace the elderly diplomat with a younger man, Bruce
I-ockhart, who had been acting consul-general in Moscow. He had re-
turned from Petrograd shortly before the October Revolution.

Litvinov’s appointment was therefore welcome. The Foreign

Office instructed Lockhart to contact the Russian. They met in a
little restaurant in the Strand, and came to terms that both of them-
Litvinov in London, and Lockhart in Moscow— would enjoy certain
diplomatic privileges. Litvinov wrote a letter to the People’s Commi-
ssar for Foreign Affairs in Moscow; it would be the British diplomat’s
permit for entering Russia.

This worked in Chichcrin’s favour. At the beginning of January
1918 he was released, and left for Russia at once. Maxim Litvinov saw
him off at the railway station.

In Litvinov’s personal file, which has miraculously survived (in
which he collected notes, newspaper clippings, and other documents
related to his early diplomatic activity), I found a Daily Chronicle in-
terview. Litvinov had not yet rented a place for the embassy, and
therefore received the Daily Chronicle man at his home. The public
wished to know about Litvinov, and the correspondent described the
Soviet envoy at some length.

The interview follows:

“The representative of one of the greatest nations in the world
and in world history, dwells in one of those small, decent, character-
less houses which, arranged in monotonous rows in monotonous re-
gularity, form the monotonous settlements on the fringe of the great
city known as Suburbia. A narrow lobby led into Ambassador’s den,
a small room equipped with a few bookshelves, a writing-desk, and a
typewriter.

“A short interval of waiting permitted a cursory glance at the
bookshelf nearest, the desk. Someone has said that a man’s books
are an index of the man. If that is so, a couple of novels of W.W. Ja-
cobs’ must be interpreted as best one can. At least they showed
a good grip of the English language, and particularly of English cha-
racter and humour. A more pointed significance belonged perhaps
to a history of the Commune of 1871, which had clearly just been
laid down by the reader. Russian books and an old edition of the
Encyclopaedia Britannic a filled most of the shelf space.

“A short, thickset, bulky figure entered the room. It was the
Ambassador. Democratic cordiality was shown in the firm hand-
skake ; keen intelligence shone in the grey eyes, their glance inten-
sified by pince-nez, and force of will, if not pugnacity, in the firm,
clean-shaven chin and thick neck. He lit a Russian cigarette, drew
himself up before a small coalfire, and began to speak, slowly and de-
liberately, gazing all the time, not at his interlocutor, but at the
dancing flames.

‘My task as Ambassador,’ he began, ‘will be to disseminate the
truth about Russia. I shall have to dissipate the web of misunderstand-

100

ing and misinterpretation-more particularly, of course, the misinter-
pretation of the motives, character and purpose of the Soviet Gov-
ernment.’

“Nine years in England have given him a perfect mastery of our
tongue. The occasional practice of journalism, of which the typewriter
at his elbow was evidence, has given him the literary habit of speech,
and a facility in the choice of the exact word. He spoke as if dictating
an article, and, indeed, admitted afterwards that his mind had been
working on that presumption all the time he had been talking. Articles
from his pen have appeared in English papers of the highest influence,
and it is not unnatural that as an old friend and associate of Lenin he
should have been sought after of late by editors. As an Ambassador,
however, his article-writing days were ended.

“ ‘In the first place,’ he continued, ‘the party at present in power
in Russia is being misrepresented as guilty of a usurpation of authori-
ty and worse. People are apt to believe that the Bolsheviks grabbed
power for themselves or for party purposes, whereas the contrary is
the case. Their motto, “All power for the Councils of Workers’ and
Soldiers’ Delegates’’, was launched in the very first days of the Fe-
bruary Revolution when the Bolsheviks formed only a small minority
of the Soviets...

“ ‘The second Revolution in November was executed with a view
of taking the reins out of the trembling hands of Kerensky and his
associates and handing them over to the Soviets...

“‘This is the crucial fact of present Russia-that the class war in
its naked form is raging not only in Great Russia but also in Ukrainia
and ... Siberia...

“‘The explanation is that the parties in power in those provinces
belong to the same type as the Kercnskys and Tereshchenkos...’

“But does all this not show that the Bolshevik Government has,
to say the least, a disputed authority?’

“ ‘Of course, it is disputed. But I must point out that it has be-
hind it nearly the whole of the industrial working class and the great
mass of the peasants whether in uniform or mufti.’

“But what of Bolshevism and the war?”

“ ‘It is grossly mischievous to represent the Bolsheviks as pro-
German or anti-Ally, or— (after a pausc)-mere pacifists. They arc
none of these things. They realise as clearly as anyone that Kaiserism
and Junkerdom arc the greatest obstacles across the path of the in-
ternational proletariat towards self-emancipation. But they have
discovered that Prussia is not the only soil that is congenial to the
growth of these noxious plants. They are opposed to the mere replac-
ing of Prussian militarism by Russian, French or English militarism.

101

“ ‘The triumph of militarism as such would be the inevitable out-
come of victory by force of arms for either belligerent group. Were
the Bolsheviks in a position to fight German militarism for the sake of
their own principles and for their own revolutionary aims, without
helping at the same time the militarists and imperialists of other lands,
they would be eager to do so.’

“The Ambassador rose to his feet. His voice rang with the con-
viction that comes of a faith held with the intensity of a religion. T
am sanguine enough,’ he declared, ‘to imagine that the Russian
and German armies on the Eastern front may some day march to-
gether against the common foes of the world’s proletariat in Germany
itself and— perhaps in other countries too! 1 do believe, in fact, that by
the negotiations now going on and the multifarious propaganda that
is being urged among the German soldiers in the East,’ he said, ‘Lenin
was contributing towards the downfall of Kaiserism more effectually
than the Allies by their fighting in the West.’

“There came a warning note into the voice.

“ ‘A separate peace would be looked upon by the Bolsheviks as a
disaster and as the collapse of their efforts. But the present condition
of Russia, aggravated as it is by civil war, may make it inevitable.
It is for the democracies of the Allied countries to see that this calam-
ity docs not happen. They have a responsibility, too-onc from
which history will not acquit them— and it is high time for them to
raise their voices and use all the means at their command to compel
their governments to facilitate the path towards a democratic peace.
This, if it is to be done, must be done at once. Otherwise it will be too
late! Russia has spoken. La parole est aux ouvriers des pays allies.’ ’’

That was the Soviet envoy’s first interview in London. It aroused
a lively response. Respectable bourgeois papers attacked Litvinov
for his call for peace. But all of them noticed his reasoned and mo-
derate exposition of the Bolshevik view of international affairs.

So much for the political creed. Now, steps had to be taken to
establish relations with Britain. This was what Soviet Russia expected
from Litvinov.

In 1933, sixteen years after he was appointed envoy to Britain by a
cable from Petrograd, Litvinov came to London again to attend the
World Economic Conference. He had long since been made People’s
Commissar for Foreign Affairs. At the railway station, he was met by
the Foreign Secretary and members of the diplomatic corps. All the
honours due to the minister of a great power were accorded.

In London, whenever he had some free time, Litvinov saw Ivan
Maisky, the Soviet envoy in Britain. They frequented various Lon-
don parks. During one such walk, Litvinov, not usually inclined

102

to speak of the past, told Maisky of the first steps of his diploma-
tic career. Maisky took down Litvinov’s story, and asked him to
check his notes. Litvinov made a few corrections, and kept a copy
for himself.

“And so,’’ Litvinov’s story began, “I became envoy. But 1 had
nothing-neither directives from Moscow, nor money, nor anybody to
help me. Needless to say, 1 had no diplomatic training and no
experience.

“To begin with, contact had to be made with Moscow. I took ad-
vantage of one of the comrades leaving for Soviet Russia. He took a
letter along to the newly established People’s Commissariat for
Foreign Affairs, asking for instructions and money. 1 also sent a code
devised with the help of one of the people of the former tsarist mili-
tary mission in London who was a sympathiser. Until then, the
Foreign Commissariat had no code for me, and our contacts were by
clear cablegrams. The code 1 sent, by the way, was touched up in Mos-
cow and sent for use to all our envoys. When coded correspondence
thus became possible between the Foreign Commissariat and me, our
contacts became closer.

“After repeated requests on my part, 1 was at last informed,
in March 1918, that the Commissariat was despatching its first
messenger with a diplomatic pouch. You can well imagine how im-
patiently I waited for him. I followed the various stages of his long
journey. He travelled across Finland, Sweden, and Norway, and I went
to the railway station to meet him in person. But, alas, the pouch
he brought did not contain what 1 had expected. In one way, how-
ever, it did resolve my difficulties: 1 received nearly 200,000 roubles
in tsarist banknotes, which were then still being accepted in Britain.
Now, at least, I could begin organising the first Soviet mission in Lon-
don. 1 leased a place at 82 Victoria Street, ordered letterheads and
rubber stamps, and employed a few people to help me. The mission’s
secretary was my wife, who took care of all the English correspond-
ence. In addition, I picked three or four emigres and former members
of the tsarist military mission to help out.

“On the door I hung a sign, Russian People’s Embassy. The con-
sulate was under the same roof, and was called Russian People’s
Consulate. I called myself Russian People’s Ambassador. I invented
these names because, as I said, I had received no instructions from
Moscow, and none as to my own official title.”

There was a visiting card in Litvinov’s file, stating who he was and
the reception hours at 82 Victoria Street. The embassy was open to
visitors from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. and from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m. but only
halfday on Saturdays.

103

Before continuing Litvinov’s story, let me take you back to his
house and see what was going on there two weeks after his appoint-
ment. The account was by Marion Ryan of the Weekly Dispatch,
headed, “The Litvinoffs At Home”. Here it is:

“Some men have greatness thrust upon them. Such a man is Maxim
Litvinoff, the present ‘Representative of the Russian People’ in
London.

“Two years ago he married a young English girl, Ivy Lowe, a novel-
ist of promise, a member of a well-known literary family, and just
the woman to share his hopes and dreams.

“The Litvinoffs lived the most secluded and quiet of lives in a tiny
house in West Hampstead. The postman came often, but there were
few callers, and those who came were Russians. There was no tinkle
of a telephone bell, no puffing of taxicabs. Their house was as somno-
lent as all the houses in that road.

“But M. and Mme. Litvinoff were not somnolent. Great things
were happening in Russia, and M. Litvinoffs dreams seemed near ful-
filment. Exiles made their way home again, but he stayed in London.
He knew Lenin intimately, and had written of him as a man of ability
and action.

“And then, quite suddenly, this pleasant, quiet gentleman, who
looks like an English statesman and was regarded in Hillfield Road
as a quiet scholar devoted to his young wife and their beautiful baby,
was thrust into the post of Representative of the Russian People and
unofficially recognised Ambassador with a distinctly unofficial em-
bassy. He was chosen by the Bolsheviks because of his beliefs, because
of his long residence in England and his excellent knowledge of
languages.

“Since then life has completely changed in the Litvinoff house-
hold, and all Hillfield Road is affected by the change. There arc
taxicabs and callers and Pressmen and messenger-boys all day and the
neighbours are agog with excitement. Greatness has been thrust
upon them also, and if you ring the Litvinoffs’ bell and nobody
answers, some friendly neighbour can tell you just when they went
out and when they arc likely to return.

“Somebody answered the bell when 1 found their little house
after tramping through slush-lined streets, with wind and rain trying
to see which could be more disagreeable. Mme. Litvinoff was home
and received me in the little room which is office, sitting-room, and
the playroom of Mischa Litvinoff aged one year.

Mme. Litvinoff is tall and slender, with mobile features, dark
eyes, and hair bobbed in the fashion which Chelsea borrowed from
Russia some years ago.

104

‘ ‘We do not wish to be written up,’ she said plaintively. ‘And
1 absolutely will not discuss political questions or our plans with you,
but I’ll give you some tea and show you my son instead.’

“ ‘The word embassy suggests marble staircases and wide halls
and drawing-rooms fragrant with costly flowers,’ she added as she
knelt down to toast a piece of bread, ‘so you need not go away and
call this the Embassy, unofficial or otherwise, and you need not speak
of me as the unofficial Ambassadress, for 1 am not in the least like
one, even an unofficial one. My husband is the Russian People’s
Representative. That’s quite enough.

“ ‘We are going to try to take a house with a little more room
and a telephone, as that is necessary. In fact 1 never dreamed how
necessary a telephone was till two weeks ago.

“ ‘1 cannot even say much about my husband because he would
not like it. He simply wants to do his work and be undisturbed in
that, but he cannot. This used to be a refuge for him, this little room,
but it is not any more, for though he has an office in the City, people
will come out here, and even my best efforts as a policewoman
and guardian of the peace are not always effectual.

“ T am not really his secretary, though I do help him with his cor-
respondence. He speaks and writes English splendidly, but he has so
much to do, he cannot get through it all.

“ ‘I did not take much interest in politics before I was married.
I was socialistically inclined, but I am afraid 1 did not have any very
definite views.

“ ‘Russian husbands share their lives and views more with their
wives than English husbands do, however, and so 1 have learned much
and am interested in all my husband does.

“ ‘Russian women are so well educated and so intelligent, you see,
and a Russian husband can do with less domesticity and more in-
telligence. That is why so many Russian women have professions as
well as being wives and mothers. Their husband’s ideal is to have a
wife who is a companion and someone to come in and do the house-
keeping.

“ ‘My husband’s friends here were chiefly Russian refugees like
himself; many of them have gone back to their own country now;
but 1 knew some of them well, and 1 only wish people here knew Rus-
sians as well. They were interesting, even brilliant men and women,
those refugees, living in poverty, having a struggle to earn a livelihood,
but never complaining and always dreaming and hoping their sacrifices
would avail in the end.

“‘We are very ignorant about Russia, most of us here. Why, even
Englishmen and Englishwomen who consider themselves well read

105

will tell you they know nothing of Russian literature, one of the great-
est, if not the greatest, literatures in the world. And how can you
know the people if you know nothing of their literature?’

“Then Mischa from his high chair gurgled unintelligibly and Mme.
Litvinoff gave him a crust and a Russian endearment.

“‘I only know a little Russian,’ she said in answer to my ques-
tion. T began to study it with my husband, but now we have had to
give up the lessons. Of course we want and intend to go to Russia
some day, and I would like to have at least a working knowledge
of the language.’

“At this point the bell rang again, and Mme. Litvinoff had to
sympathise with two Russian women who had come all the way
from Hammersmith to see the People’s Representative. She was kind
and helpful, and gave them the City address and telephone number,
and they went away, through the slush, soothed but voluble.

“The last I saw of Citiz.encss Litvinoff she was standing with her
baby in her arms looking very young, but happy and interested. Her
day’s work was not half done, for she had still to put her energetic
little son to bed, then get supper for the People’s Representative and
herself, and talk over with him the news matter in the six papers
they read daily, and finally to help him with the correspondence.”

Now' back to Litvinov’s own tale:

“What were my relations with the British government and the pub-
lic? The time before and after the signing of the Brest Treaty differed
sharply in that respect. Before the treaty, the attitude of both official
and unofficial Britain was, considering the time and the circum-
stances, relatively good... The Foreign Office kept contact with me
through Rex Leeper. He had known me before. Now, my old ac-
quaintanceship was used for diplomatic purposes. Initially, my meet-
ings with Leeper had an air of romanticism: we used to meet in a cafe
or restaurant, or in one of the London parks.

“It stands to reason that having obtained Balfour’s de facto recog-
nition, 1 tried to close down the old tsarist embassy. 1 wrote a letter
to Konstantin Nabokov, who was then charge d’affaires, and told him
to stop play-acting and hand over Chesham House (the embassy pre-
mises). I sent the letter with one of my employees. Nabokov received
him and said politely that if the Soviet government had been officially
recognised by the British government, he would not have hesitated to
retire and to let me have the embassy building. Since this w'as not the
case, he considered my claim groundless. I sent a similar letter to the
tsarist consul-general, Mr. Onu. The consul w ; as a far cruder man than
Nabokov, and told my man to get out. But I was successful in another

106

way: 1 sent the Bank of F.ngland a letter demanding that it arrest
all money belonging to the tsarist government and military mission.
The bank complied, and the tsarist embassy and mission stopped
receiving money.

“As for my relations with the press and public, I had no grounds
for complaint during the first period (before the signing of the Brest
Treaty). I was continuously interviewed and photographed, my wife’s
relatives were described in detail, and we were not too harshly
judged.”

The Litvinovs were even invited to receptions. Though Soviet
Russia was not yet recognised, its powerful influence reached stand-
offish London. Ivy Litvinova recollected:

“Appearances had to be kept up, and since ‘Mrs. Litvinoff’
existed, she was also invited to dinners and lunches in Westminster,
in fashionable Mayfair, and once even Downing Street. 1 was seated
alongside Ramsay MacDonald and opposite Bertrand Russell. Lean-
ing across the table, I asked him what he thought of Freud. For an
instant, the philosopher fixed his eagle eyes on me. But he did not re-
ply. Still, everyone was very kind. The lady on my right started a con-
versation with me. T think you must have been very surprised,’ she
said to me gently, ‘when from your quiet life with husband and baby
in West Hampstead you were dragged into the whirlpool of world
events. All of us see you sitting down at breakfast one morning, and
being told by your husband, ‘Congratulations, dear, you are now
the wife of an ambassador.’

“I told the lady that we had not learned the news from a news-
paper.”

Speaking to a Daily Chronicle correspondent, Litvinov said his
main task was to dispel the lies about Soviet Russia. For this, he used
every possible opportunity: press interviews, speeches at meetings,
articles about the October Revolution in the Labour Leader and other
journals and newspapers, and leaflets and pamphlets. He also took a
firm stand against continuing the war.

The pamphlet Litvinov began writing in 1917 was completed
by early 1918. He called it The Bolshevik Revolution: Its Rise and
Meaning. The chapter titles— it contained six chapters in addition to
a foreword by E.C. Fairchild and a preface by the author— show
how much ground Litvinov covered in it: 1. The First Revolution
(1905); 2. The War; 3. The Revolution of March 1917; 4. Anti-Bol-
shevism in Ascendancy; 5. The Bolshevik Revolution; 6. The Bolshe-
vik Programme of Peace.

Litvinov examined the three Russian revolutions, exposed the
counter-revolutionary forces, demonstrated the extraordinary part

107

Lenin had played in the workers’ struggle for liberation, and showed
the international nature of the October Revolution.

In his foreword, the then popular Labour leader E.C. Fairchild
called on Britain’s working class to try and understand the substance
of what had occurred in Russia in October 1917.

The pamphlet was printed at the Labour Party’s printshop. Its first
edition apparently appeared in February 1918. Two months later a
second edition was put out. Litvinov’s pamphlet was thus the first
one by a Bolshevik Marxist published abroad, in the citadel of the cap-
italist world, after the Great October Socialist Revolution. It did a
lot to elucidate the truth about the October Revolution, and influ-
enced the appearance in Britain of Hands off Russia Committees. 4 1

One late August night in 1918, a messenger with a special assign-
ment from Moscow, from Lenin in person, came to Litvinov’s Lon-
don home. An important event had occurred in the Soviet capital
on July 19. The first Constitution of the Russian Federation had been
adopted and published by the Fifth All-Russia Congress of Soviets.
And Lenin asked Bonch-Bruyevich, who was in charge of the Krem-
lin chancellery, to send its text to Litvinov in London as quickly
as possible. Perhaps the latter would let the British workers know
about it.

Litvinov read and reread the text, and wondered how and where
he could publish it. He did publish it in the end, though the pam-
phlet was destroyed. Still extant, however, is a copy of Litvinov’s
foreword in English. It shows the sort of language Litvinov used
when addressing the working people, and what thoughts he sought
to convey to them as the plenipotentiary of his country.

“In revolutionary' situations, especially situations so fraught
with social reconstruction as at present in Russia,” he wrote, “the
supreme interests of the Revolution and of the revolutionary classes
are also supreme justice. The world has seen many constitutions, but
none like the one the text of which is published in the following
pages. It is the first constitution of the first Socialist State in the his-
tory of the world. What was the dream of generations of Socialists
did by the strange will of Fate become an accomplished fact in Russia
in November 1917; and the Socialist International— or whatever has
remained of it in these days of wholesale desertion from, and pro-
found demoralisation in the ranks of Socialism-can see now how the
working class, come to power, has attempted to construct a State
machinery on the morrow of the Socialist Revolution. For this con-
stitution is no product of the individual brain of a learned theorist or
even practical statesman, but, in the full sense of the word, an organic

108

growth, a spontaneous creation of the Revolution, the will of the
collective constructive genius of the Russian toiling masses.”

Then, referring to the role of the Soviets of Deputies in tljc three
Russian revolutions, Litvinov added: “It never entered the head of
anyone but Lenin that this purely revolutionary business organisation
of a seemingly temporary character* was destined to become the
corner-stone of the future organisation of the Russian Socialist Com-
monwealth. But such was its destiny, as foreseen by Lenin as early
as the beginning of April. The present constitution, therefore, though
a written one, is not a paper, but a LIVE constitution, pulsating with
the blood, the ideas, the sentiments, and let us also say, passions of
the toiling revolutionary masses of Russia.”

The British thus received new important evidence about the Octo-
ber Revolution, and about the victories and objectives of the Russian
working class.

Litvinov had already leased the premises for the embassy and began
what Chicherin described as establishing ties with Britain’s industrial
and commercial world. He contacted British industrialists and busi-
nessmen in London and other cities. On his instructions, the Soviet
consul he had appointed in Glasgow, a Scotsman named Mac Lean,
did the same in Scotland. Slowly but surely, his efforts yielded fruit.
Soon, Britain’s industrial world came out publicly for trade with
Soviet Russia, and then for Soviet Russia’s recognition.

Certainly, Litvinov devoted all his energy, to political affairs, espe-
cially in the exceedingly difficult period when the Entente countries
launched their armed intervention against the Soviet Republic. Let
us go back to Litvinov’s remembrances:

“I spoke at the 17th Conference of the Labour Party in Notting-
ham. Time and again, I had to cross swords with opponents of the Oc-
tober Revolution at big meetings. I especially remember a meeting
in Caxton Hall. Here is its story. In the summer of 1918, Kerensky
came to London and delivered a vile speech against the Bolsheviks
at the Labour conference chaired by Arthur Henderson. I was present,
but was refused the floor to reply to Kerensky despite loud calls from
the audience. A few days later, the left-wing Labourites, jointly with
a few radical MPs (Joseph King, and others), convened a special meet-
ing at Caxton Hall, with me as the main speaker. The place was filled
to overcrowding. There was excitement in the air and the resolutions
we adopted were sharply worded.”

Litvinov’s efforts in London were anxiously followed in Moscow.
In December 1919, Chicherin spoke at the Seventh All-Russia Cong-
ress of Soviets;

109

“In June 1918, at a London workers’ conference, Kerensky was
met with expressions of hostility, while Litvinov was cheered, though
he was not allowed to speak... At large meetings in London ... marked
by general enthusiasm, people adopted resolutions demanding ‘Hands
off Russia’.”

One of the leaflets distributed at that time in Britain said: “The
news recently to hand that British troops have landed at Revel and are
marching on Petrograd, renders it necessary that the workers of Brit-
ain shall consider what steps must be taken to compel the Allied Gov-
ernments to withdraw all troops from Russian territory... No excuse
whatever for the continuance of the war against the first Socialist
Republic.”

The London meeting, which adopted the text of this leaflet,
appealed to Britain’s workers to act against the imperialist interven-
tion in Soviet Russia.

But the main difficulties would still come. Britain launched an
open intervention, which immediately affected Litvinov’s position.
Here is how he related it:

“One morning, when 1 came to the mission, I found it locked. It
turned out that the owner of the house at 82 Victoria Street had de-
cided that a dangerous institution like the Soviet Mission was better
closed. He tore up our contract, and hung a lock on the door. I went
to court. The court found that the owner of the house was, indeed,
guilty of breach of contract. The owner argued that I, Litvinov, en-
gaged in dangerous ‘propaganda’ against King and country. There-
upon, the court took the houseowmer’s side. It ruled that, though
he had unilaterally breached the contract, my application should be
turned down. It was useless to appeal to any higher instance. As a
result, the Russian People’s Embassy at 82 Victoria Street ceased to
exist. 1 removed it to my own flat at 1 1 Bigwood Avenue, Golder’s
Green, C 3.”

The situation reflected on the family’s welfare. The Litvinovs had
had a second baby, a daughter whom they called Tatiana. Ivy Litvi-
nova recollected:

“About a fortnight after my return from the maternity hospi-
tal, the girl Charlotte, our housemaid, stopped coming and I had to
run the house by myself with two little children, one of them an
infant and the other at an age when you could not leave him alone for
a minute. My Aunt Edith hurried to Charlotte’s place to find out why
she did not come. The flu was at its height then, and we thought that
perhaps the girl had caught it. But Charlotte was all right. She opened
the door and let Aunt Edith in. No, no, she said, she can no longer go
to Mrs. Litvinoff. She did not want people to see her entering and

110

leaving a house that was watched by the police. For a number of days,
as she noticed, detectives had been watching the place from across
the road, and followed Mr. Litvinoff whenever he left the house.
She had no idea what he had done, a quiet and polite gentleman
that he was, but whatever the case, she wanted nothing to do with the
police.”

On August 30, 1918, an attempt was made on Lenin’s life in Mos-
cow. The reactionaries in Britain were jubilant. They waited for the
collapse of the Revolution. They gloated for all they were worth.
And Litvinov’s situation became still more complicated. The govern-
ment no longer wanted a semi-official Soviet representative in Britain.
Charlotte was right. Litvinov had long since been under secret surveil-
lance. Soon, indeed, all pretences were dropped. After the arrest of
Bruce Lockhart for counter-revolutionary' activity in Moscow on Sep-
tember 1, the London papers reported that “a Scotland Yard represen-
tative has been ‘attached’ to the ‘Embassy’ and Mr. Litvinoff s move-
ments arc being closely watched. Mr. Litvinoff stated that he had no
news direct as to the arrest of Lockhart, that he was naturally much
hindered in his work by the surveillance of the police authorities.”

On September 6, Litvinov was arrested. “The British government,”
he recollected, “searched my house and arrested me in reprisal.
Almost all the other employees of the Mission were also searched
and arrested. I was taken to Bnxton Prison.”

But an ambassador is an ambassador, even though not formally
recognised. On the door of Litvinov’s cell, a sign was attached, saying,
“Detained at His Majesty’s Pleasure”.

Litvinov paced up and down the cell and wondered what he could
do to regain his freedom. Ill tidings reached him. The newspapers
urged resolute action. There is a clipping in Litvinov’s file in which
its author suggested telling Lenin that “should the slightest violence
be offered Mr. Lockhart, Litvinoff shall be shot”. Litvinov underlined
this passage in red pencil.

Here is the rest of Litvinov’s story:

“A few days after my arrest, Leeper came to see me in my cell.
The reason for his visit was obvious. Before my arrest, the Foreign
Office was able to contact the Soviet government through me. There
was no other way of communicating with Moscow (for Lockhart
was in prison). The day I was arrested, this thread between London
and Moscow was cut. Yet owing to Lockhart’s arrest, London was
compelled to start some sort of negotiations with Moscow— if only
to secure his release. But how? The Foreign Office sent Leeper to sec
me. He asked me to dispatch a coded message to Moscow with
Britain’s proposal for exchanging me for Lockhart. I told Leeper

111

1 would send no messages from a prison cell: either the British gov-
ernment considers me a plenipotentiary of the Soviet government, in
which case 1 should have my freedom, or it considers me a convict,
and should not ask me to send any coded messages. It would have to
choose. Leeper went away empty-handed.

“Finally, my words took effect. After 10 days in the cell, I return-
ed home; and with me, for I demanded it categorically, all the other
people of my mission. True, after my release Scotland Yard agents
were attached to me, and followed me day and night. But I was
free, and now agreed to forward the Foreign Office proposal to the
Soviet government. Moscow accepted it, and the question of my leav-
ing Britain was thus settled.

“But the scheme hit a number of serious snags. Lockhart was in
Moscow, I was in London, and communications by rail, telephone,
telegraph, etc., between the two capitals were, if not entirely cut, in
any case exceedingly complicated. To arrange Lockhart’s crossing
the Soviet border and me crossing the British on one and the same
day and at the same hour, was simply impossible. In the final analysis,
the exchange hinged on the question of who should cross the border
first. For a long time, we could not come to terms on that. Finally,
I made the following proposal to the Foreign Office: 1 would leave
Britain first, but not go to Soviet Russia. Instead, I would stay in Chri-
stiania (now Oslo), and await Lockhart’s departure from Soviet
Russia. Balfour accepted this proposal with a heavy heart.

“This occurred at the end of 1918. All communications between
Britain and Soviet Russia proceeded at that time via Scandinavia.
They were complicated by the German U-boat war on British ship-
ping and the mines infesting the North Sea. I was to go to Aberdeen
and board a ship there which plied to and from Bergen fairly regu-
larly, escorted by two destroyers. From Bergen 1 would go to Chris-
tiania, and from there to Stockholm, whence I would seek access to
Soviet Russia.

“A railway strike was on at the time of my departure. The Foreign
Office decided to send me and my comrades (about 40 Bolsheviks
were going with me) by motor coach. I agreed. Leeper accompanied
me to Aberdeen. Besides, the Norwegian Vice-Consul in London took
part in arranging my evacuation from Britain. The voyage to Christiania
went off safely.

“On arriving in Christiania I went to see the Norwegian Foreign
Minister. I told him the details of the case, and said I was entirely at
his disposal. The poor man was in difficulties. He said my agree-
ment with the Foreign Office did not concern him, and that I could
do whatever I pleased. 1 therefore called at the British Mission in

Christiania, and told them that I would remain in the Norwegian cap-
ital in compliance with my agreement until news of Bruce Lockhart’s
departure from Soviet Russia should arrive.

“There was a certain delay over Lockhart’s release and evacua-
tion, however, and it was not until early October that he finally
crossed the Russo-Finnish border. Now I was free to act as I saw
fit. That was the end of the story of the first Soviet People’s Ambassa-
dor in London.”

When did the staff of the Soviet Embassy in London finally arrive
in Petrograd? Sources differ on this score. In his articles on Soviet
Russia’s foreign policy in the first two years, which appeared in
Izvestia on November 6, 7 and 13, 1919, Georgy Chicherin wrote that
Litvinov arrived in Petrograd on October 11, 1918. This could not
»: have been Chicherin’s mistake. It was probably the mistake of the

stenographer who had taken down his article, lhe mistake was repeat-
ed in the collection of Chichcrin’s articles and speeches. In fact, the
Soviet diplomats and the 40 Bolsheviks who left London with Lit-
vinov, arrived in Petrograd a fortnight later. On October 26, Pravda
carried the following report from Petrograd, entitled “Arrival of Rus-
sian Envoys from Britain”:

“Members of the Embassy of the Republic of Russia in Britain
arrived in Petrograd yesterday and stopped at the guesthouse of
the Worker-Peasant Red Army. Comrade Litvinov was held up en
route and will arrive a few days later.”

Litvinov kept the word he had given the Foreign Office. He stayed
in Christiania until he was advised that Lockhart had crossed the Fin-
nish border. Only then did he set out on the second leg of his journey.
He arrived in Petrograd on the eve of the first anniversary of the
October Revolution.

It was an unusually dry and warm autumn day. For the first time
in his life, Litvinov saw Russia without gendarmes. He looked at
people, at the houses and streets, and barely recognised the city
he had known for so long. For 12 years he had been away, a political
emigre. In 1906, he was in St. Petersburg to make the Mensheviks
fork out the money to buy arms. He had barely managed to slip past
the police to Finland, whereupon he went abroad not to return to
Russia again for years. That had been a decision of the RSDLP Cen-
tral Committee. Now he was home again. Litvinov was expected at
the Smolny, seat of the Petrograd government. But he wanted to see
the house in Troitsky Street where Novaya Zbizn, which he had help-
ed to put out at the time of the first Russian revolution, had had its
offices. He also wanted to see the building where the Bolsheviks had
had their Central Committee in 1905.

112

8-01072

113

Litvinov knew Petrograd well. But he could not remember how to
go to these two places. It occurred to him that he should ask a mili-
tiaman. The young lad stood on a street corner with a rifle slung over
his shoulder, wearing a red armband. Litvinov approached him, scru-
tinised his face, and looked into his blue, fearless eyes. He could
barely control his excitement, and lost his power of speech. The mili-
tiaman’s questioning glance gave way to suspicion. He asked:

“What’s up, old man?”

He used the Russian word papasha which had once been Litvinov’s
Party name, and Litvinov chuckled. The militiaman’s expression grew
frigid :

“Who are you?”

Litvinov asked:

“How do I get to the Smolny, the Petrograd City Soviet?”

“You should have asked at once,” the militiaman replied.

Chapter 2

HERALD OF PEACE

The situation in the country was near disastrous. The Ukraine had
been overrun by German troops. Counter-revolutionaries were on the
rampage. Hunger was an overriding condition. And Moscow and Petro-
grad were the hungriest cities in the country. Typhoid was killing
people by the thousands. As many as 3,134 cases of cholera were
registered in October alone.

On the first anniversary of the Revolution, most people received
a holiday allowance of two pounds of potatoes, a quarter pound of
vegetable oil, three herrings, and a pound of bread. Professors and
members of the Academy of Sciences aged 45 and over had top ration
cards. They, too, received the holiday pittance of vegetable oil and
their three herrings. Party functionaries and government employees
had ration cards of a lower class.

But the new life was asserting itself. Revolutionary changes were
spreading. Soviets and their executive bodies were being set up in the
remotest towns and villages. Millions upon millions of working people
had risen in defence of Lenin’s option. Communist Party member-
ship grew by leaps. Young people were setting up the YCL. The poor
were organising poor committees. Literacy classes were springing up in
workers’ quarters and villages.

Hungry, ragged, and unshod, defending itself against the onslaught
of counter-revolutionaries and foreign intervention, the country did
its utmost to protect the Russian cultural heritage. The house of Maria
Savina, the actress, in Petrograd, was declared a national asset. To save
objects of art from destruction, museums and picture galleries were
allowed special allotments of firewood. Party committees went un-
heated: the Communists gave up their firewood to orphanages. Clubs
were being opened in towns.

At the Sixth All-Fussia Extraordinary Congress of Soviets, Lenin
delivered a speech on the first anniversary of the October Revolution,
and a report on the international situation.

In Germany, a revolution had erupted, too, and Lenin followed de-
velopments there very closely. He was also finishing his book, The

115

Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky, and was exceed-
ingly busy. Yet he carved out time to receive Litvinov.

“Have you found lodgings?” was his first question.

“I’ve stopped at the Metropole, and will now look around.”

“A hotel can’t be permanent. You’ve got to settle down. I’ve
instructed Chicherin. Some pleasant place, possibly at Kuznetsky
Most. What about the family?”

“The family is in London. It’ll come soon. My wife is most eager
to come.”

“Your Englishwoman won’t find it easy,” Lenin observed.

“She’ll grow used to it. By the way, Comrade Lenin, she has
written you a letter and sent a little gift. I’ve destroyed the letter
for there could be complications en route. And 1 didn’t take the gift
for the same reason.”

Lenin asked Litvinov to thank his wife. He wanted to know every-
thing about the political mood in Britain, about the state of the
British working class, the Labour Party, and the factions in the
government. His questions thrust into the very heart of British poli-
tics. He also asked Litvinov to tell him about things in Norway. In
conclusion, he said:

“My dear Maxim Maximovich, you’ll continue as a diplomat. The
Foreign Commissariat is in desperate need of people with a Party
background.”

That was how, in Lenin’s study, a new job was given to profession-
al revolutionary Maxim Litvinov. The Party posted him, a man
destined to play an outstanding pan in the history of Soviet foreign
policy, with the diplomatic service. He ..'orked under Lenin’s guidance
together with such outstanding personalities as Georgy Chicherin,
Leonid Krasin, Vaclav Vorovsky, Alexandra Kollontai, Lev Karakhan,
Nikolai Krestinsky, Pyotr Voikov, and Boris Stomoniakov. Jointly,
they created a fundamentally new diplomatic school.

Litvinov’s career as statesman and diplomat lasted nearly 30 years,
until the latter half of the 1940s. Those had been hard and heroic
times- resisting armed foreign interventionists and home-grown
counter-revolutionaries, combating a worldwide blockade, and launch-
ing the first five-year plans which turned the backward country into a
powerful industrial state. Soviet diplomacy summoned all its skill to
maintain the peace as long as possible in those highly complex years
that saw the build-up of a military conflagration, and then the brutal
war unleashed by Nazi Germany.

After his talk with Lenin, Litvinov was appointed member of the
Collegium of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. Soon,

116

he left for Sweden on an important assignment.

Litvinov’s visit to Stockholm had been carefully considered and
prepared by Lenin himself. Litvinov was to approach the Western
governments with a peace offer. Stockholm had been chosen because
the Soviet envoy in Sweden, Vaclav Vorovsky, had fairly good
connections in the Swedish industrial and political world. That would
help Litvinov’s mission, though objectively the situation was exceed-
ingly unfavourable. An anti-Bolshevik hate campaign was gathering
momentum all over Europe. The Entente was seeing to it that Soviet
relations with Sweden should hang on a thin thread.

Vorovsky’s position in Stockholm was, in fact, desperate. In 1918,
Russian counter-revolutionaries flooded the Swedish capital. One of
their chiefs, a tsarist colonel Hadji-Lush, organised a League of Killers,
which he described as a military organisation for the restoration of the
Russian Empire. Hadji-Lush’s killers did away with Russians in Stock-
holm who refused to join in their criminal plans or wished to return to
Russia. The murders were brutal: people were burnt in boilers or
drowned in lakes, or had their arms or legs, and also their heads,
chopped off.

Hadji-Lush’s cutthroats terrorised the Soviet mission. Its staff was
in a constant state of tension. You had to be Vorovsky, to have his
willpower, his tenacity, and sense of humour, to endure it. In 1919,
on returning to Moscow, Vorovsky wrote a pamphlet, A World
of Loathsome Desolation, in which he produced a staggering portrayal
of the situation in the Swedish capital. His description served as the
background for Alexei Tolstoy’s novel, Black Gold (The Emigres).

This was when Litvinov came to Stockholm with Lenin’s assign-
ment,

Had he any assistants? He left Moscow with Rosa Zaretskaya, who
was to be his secretary and cipher clerk. Had he any sources of infor-
mation? Mainly the newspapers, and meetings with diplomats, who
however, were non-too-eager to see him. On the credit side, too, he
had his native insight and his knack of anticipating the adversary’s
next move.

Before tackling his assignment, Litvinov studied the situation
in the country. He spent hours with Vorovsky discussing the state
of affairs. The latter introduced him to a few Swedish politicians.
Besides, Litvinov’s name was known in the Social-Democratic world,
for he had been active in the International Socialist Bureau before
and during the war. That helped too.

As member of the Foreign Commissariat’s Collegium, Litvinov also
studied the work of the Soviet Mission. Vorovsky had done a lot to
establish and expand ties with various commercial firms. But all sorts

117

of dubious personalities were snooping about. Among them the tsarist
general Ivanov, and the unscrupulous Dmitry Rubinstein, former ban-
ker of Alexander Protopopov, a Provisional Government minister,
and of Grigory Rasputin. They offered their services as middlemen be-
tween the Mission and Sweden’s business world, expecting good pickigs.

Litvinov helped Vorovsky to get rid of these gentlemen. There
were also redundancies at the Mission itself. A Navy representative
had been around for some months, doing nothing, and not earning his
per diem allowance. During the New Year’s celebration at the Mission,
Litvinov toasted the “grounded” naval officer, and the latter took the
hint, and immediately went home. Other needless people also packed up.

On December 23, 1918, Litvinov approached the ambassadors of
Britain, France, Italy, Japan, and the United States with the Soviet
government’s peace offer. On the following day, he sent a special
message to U.S. President Woodrow' Wilson, who w'as then on a visit
in London. Endorsed by Lenin, it is vivid evidence of Litvinov’s style
as diplomat and statesman, and is therefore worth reproducing, at
least in part:

“In addition to the general peace proposal recently submitted to
the Allies by the Soviet Government, I have today formally informed
the Ministers of the United States and the Allies in Stockholm that 1
have been authorised to enter into negotiations on the peaceful so-
lution of all issues that have caused hostile actions against Russia. The
principles you have proclaimed are a possible basis for resolving the
European issues, and your public statements about your wish and in-
tention to secure a settlement in pursuance of justice and humanity,
have prompted me to send you the present ideas, since most of the
points in your peace programme are also points in the more far-
reaching and extensive programme of the Russian workers and
peasants, who arc today rulers of their own country.”

A few words are not amiss to explain what Litvinov had in mind:
about a year before, the U.S. President had come forward with a
peace programme known in history as Wilson’s Fourteen Points.

Later, Lenin would pull no punches to expose “peace-maker”
Wilson’s hypocrisy. But then, three odd years before the Genoa Con-
ference, he saw fit to use Wilson’s formally pacifist programme in a
bid to end the imperialist war and the intervention in Russia, and to
secure true self-determination for the peoples.

Litvinov also wrote in that letter:

“They, the Russian workers and peasants, are the first to have
proclaimed and given the nations the right to self-determination, and
it was they who made the greatest sacrifice in the fight against impe-
rialism and militarism both at home and abroad, and they, too, who

118

struck the hardest blow at secret diplomacy and introduced open dip-
lomacy. They have suffered ferocious attacks by the former ruling
classes of Russia and their accomplices in other countries, partly be-
cause of this new political approach. To justify the attacks, the So-
viets have been showered with lies and slanders, and fake documents
have been used against them...

“Yet the main objective of the Soviets is to secure economic
freedom for the toiling majority of the Russian people, because with-
out it political freedom would have no value. For eight months, the
Soviets tried to carry out their aspirations by peaceful means, with-
out resort to force... It was not until their enemies ... committed
acts of terrorism against well-known members of the government and
asked foreign troops to help them, that the mass of the working
people was prompted to acts of despair and gave free vent to its
hatred and bitterness...

“The Allied invasion of Russian territory has not only compelled
the Soviets, again against their will, to militarise the country and use
for the country’s defence all their energy and resources, which are
so essential for the economic recovery of Russia devastated by four
years of defensive warfare, but has also cut them off from vital
sources of food and raw materials, consigning the population to ter-
rible privations bordering on hunger...

“The workers and peasants of Russia have decided to defend their
dearly-won power and freedom by all the means that enormous
country has placed at their disposal. But, conscious of the inevitable
and senseless loss of life and property on both sides, wishing to avoid
the further ruin of Russia that will follow if the struggle against home
and foreign enemies continues, since it concerns the real interests of
their country, they are prepared to make all possible concessions, pro-
vided this secures conditions for the peaceful implementation of their
social programme...

“The dictatorship of the working people and the producers is not
an aim in itself, but a means for building a new social system under
which all citizens, irrespective of the class to which they previously
belonged, will be given equal rights and an opportunity to work use-
fully. One may believe or disbelieve this ideal, but this does not jus-
tify the despatch of foreign troops to fight against it or the arming
and support of classes who seek to restore the old system of ex-
ploitation of one man by another...

“I hope and believe that before you venture on any action, you
will consider the just dictum, Audiatur et altere pars*"

• Hear the other side as well (Latin).

119

The message to Wilson was picked up by the press and gained a
public hearing. No matter how much reactionaries in the West pervert-
ed the truth about Soviet Russia, it did in the end reach the peoples.
Hands Off Russia committees sprang up in many countries.

In the meantime, the Red Army was scoring success after success
in the various Civil War theatres. Considerable victories were register-
ed over interventionist and counter-revolutionary troops in early
1919. This compelled the Allies to look for new approaches. In sub-
stance, they meant to continue the intervention, the bid to destroy
the Soviet system, but at the same time they launched diplomatic
manoeuvres. Lenin noticed this immediately. At the end of January
1919, he wrote that the bourgeoisie and the Entente governments
had began to vacillate.

The Allied intentions came to light at the Paris Peace Conference,
where the Russian question was discussed. Lloyd George and Wood-
row Wilson suggested a special conference on the Kizil Adalar Islands
off the Turkish shore.

An attache of the U.S. Embassy in London arrived in Stockholm
on President Wilson’s instructions in early January to contact Litvi-
nov and Vorovsky about the proposed negotiations. Litvinov sent
Moscow a detailed report on his conversations with the American.
He followed the Allies’ political manoeuvres in other European
capitals with close attention. Their posture, he saw, was still sharply
anti-Soviet; he was convinced that the peace talks were designed to
deceive public opinion. On January 14, Litvinov cabled Moscow:
“I’Humanite published the French diplomatic note to London, Rome,
Tokyo, and Washington. Commenting on the British proposal that all
governments existing in Russia should have representatives at the
peace conference, Pichon said that the French government rejected
the proposal because it ignored the policy of France and its Allies
in Russia.”

At that time, owing to the blockade, foreign newspapers did not
reach Moscow. Litvinov’s report, therefore, was highly valuable. It
gave a clue as to the true intentions of the Allies.

Moscow learned, meanwhile, that the Allies would seek the annexa-
tion of Archangelsk, Baku, and a number of other cities and districts
in Soviet Russia. Litvinov was immediately instructed to find out
everything he could on this score.

At the beginning of 1919, Litvinov, Vorovsky, and their small
staff constituted an important Soviet diplomatic enclave in the cap-
italist world, though it was in continuous danger.

Swedish policy was largely being shaped in Paris and London. And
those two capitals were aware that every' Soviet peace move aroused

sympathy among the war-weary nations. The Western capitals also
learned that in Stockholm Litvinov was reaching the ears of local po-
litical, commercial, and industrial quarters, and that the idea of ending
the intervention in Russia was winning supporters not only in Sweden
but other countries as well. Downing Street followed Litvinov’s activi-
ties in the Swedish capital with increasing annoyance. Clcmenceau,
too, feared Litvinov’s contacts with foreign diplomats.

Under British and French pressure, the Swedish government broke
off relations with Soviet Russia. Litvinov, Vorovsky, and the rest of
the Mission staff were to be expelled.

Late at night, Vorovsky and Litvinov drew up a note to the Swed-
ish government. On the morning of January 21 it was handed to the
Foreign Minister. It said that Soviet Russia and the United States
were having semi-official peace talks in Stockholm and that it would
be a mistake to expel Soviet diplomats at that time.

Vorovsky asked on behalf of the government of the Russian Re-
public ‘‘to allow Mr. Litvinov to remain in Sweden and thus enable
him to continue his mission of peace”.

But it was not the Swedish Foreign Minister who had the final say.
On January 30, 1919, the staff of the Soviet Mission headed by Vo-
rovsky and Litvinov were compelled to leave. They travelled via Fin-
land in a sealed railway carriage which was not opened until they
reached the Soviet border.

Rosa Zaretskaya recollected: ‘‘It was a cold winter day. Litvinov
jumped out of the carriage, inhaled the fresh air, and stretched his
limbs. Then, Vorovsky emerged, followed by the rest of the staff.
Wearied by the anxieties and the unusual mode of travel, Litvinov
made a snowball and aimed it at the Mission’s counsellor, knocking
off his hat. Offended, the latter mumbled something about being in a
bad mood. Litvinov smiled, and shouted, ‘Comrades, the offensive
continues.’ ”

The Soviet peace talks proposal set off a chain reaction, which
became more and more intensive as the Red Army made progress in
the battlefield. Wilson did not abandon the idea of establishing con-
tacts with Soviet Russia. After Litvinov’s departure from Stockholm
new means of communicating with Moscow had to be found to
arrange a conference on the Kizil Adalar Islands. Certainly, the move
was no more than Wilson’s sop to world opinion, which was clamour-
ing ever more energetically to stop the intervention in Russia. William
Bullitt, then Assistant in the U.S. Department of State and a member
of the American delegation to the Paris Peace Conference, was sent
to Soviet Russia. This, in a way, was a follow-up to Litvinov’s talks
with Wilson’s representative in Stockholm.

120

121

■

In early March 1919, the U.S. diplomat arrived in Moscow. He
came with a specific purpose: to find out on what terms the Bol-
sheviks would agree to begin peace negotiations. The talks with Bullitt
were conducted by Chicherin and Litvinov. On March 11, Bullitt was
received by Lenin. The joint text of a peace agreement was drawn up
as a result.

Bullitt left for Paris, where he handed Wilson the proposals. They
frustrated the designs of the Entente. In the draft, the Soviet govern-
ment agreed to a territorial demarcation between all governments that
had sprung up on the territory of Russia, provided the armed interven-
tion was immediately stopped, foreign troops were withdrawn, and
commercial relations resumed.

Wilson and Lloyd George were, of course, aware that all the govern-
ments in Russia, with the sole exception of the Soviet government,
were maintained by foreign troops, and that the moment the fore-
ign troops should leave, they were sure to collapse. But by the time
Bullitt returned to Paris, the situation had changed. Kolchak 43
mounted his offensive, and the West lost interest in the peace project.

The idea of a conference on the Kizil Adalar Islands was scrapped.
But the talks with Bullitt called for reconsideration. The fact of the
matter was that the message to President Wilson had been drawn up
by Litvinov and partly amended by Lenin, whereupon it was handed
to the American diplomat. This was discovered 27 years later, when
pertinent documents were found in the archives in connection with
the 4th edition of Lenin’s Collected Works.

On December 19, 1946, Vladimir Kruzhkov, then director of the
Marx-Engels-Lenin Institute, asked Litvinov in writing to elucidate a
few historical facts:

“Since you took part in drafting the treaty with Bullitt and since
you attended Lenin’s conversation with Bullitt, and had personally,
with Chicherin, handed Bullitt the text of the intended peace propos-
als of the Allied and associated governments, please tell us what part
Lenin had played in drafting the project, and whether it could be
considered as having been drafted by Lenin.”

On January 27, 1947, Litvinov replied:

“I have been in hospital and could not answer your letter of De-
cember 19. As far as I can remember, the document you are asking
about was not drawn up by Lenin in person, but by me after discuss-
ing Bullitt’s proposals with Lenin. Of course, it was scrutinised by Chi-
cherin and Lenin. Possibly, Lenin made a few corrections and
changes.”

Another letter to Litvinov, dated March 16, 1948, again requested
details, and on March 1 8 Litvinov replied:

122

“As far as 1 can remember, the draft was drawn up by me on
Lenin’s instructions... 1 think this was the case because the drafting
was preceded by my long-drawn-out negotiations with Bullitt which
suggested the contents of the document.”

The illusions created in the West by Kolchak’s offensive, were soon
dispelled. The Soviet proposals went down in history as one more
proof of the Lenin government’s peaceful plans during the grim
days of the Civil War and the intervention of foreign troops.

Soon after completing the talks with Bullitt, Litvinov was appoint-
ed collegium member of the People’s Commissariat for State Con-
trol. In addition to his other jobs. The Central Committee knew
Litvinov and his efficient way of running things. People still remem-
bered how well he had managed matters in Geneva, Zurich, and
London, where he supervised the finances of the Iskra and the Party
kitty. This was why, indeed, the Council of People’s Commissars
appointed Litvinov to the control agency. The first thing he did in this
capacity was to set up a Central Bureau of Complaints. Similar bu-
reaus soon appeared in all central institutions, where they played a big
part in combating bureaucracy in the 1920s and 30s.

Now, Litvinov divided his time between two commissariats, that
of Foreign Affairs and of State Control. He came home late, but
found time to go through the newspapers. He had moved from the
Metropolc Hotel to a modest-sized two-room flat on the Moskva Em-
bankment. Ivy was expected soon from London. Old friends, people
with whom he had shared the hardships of exile, called on him from
time to time at his new house. Among them were Svidersky and
Klyshko, and also Alexander Tsyurupa 44 and Kamo. He was also seen
at theatres and concerts.

Minutes of the Council of People’s Commissars show that Litvinov
hardly ever missed any sittings, and that he saw Lenin often.

Those who had overthrown the old world and become builders of
a new, treated all matters, important and less important, with the
same devotion. They discussed cooperatives, how to combat theft of
telephone wire in Moscow streets, and storage of seed in remoter
regions; they helped victims of anti-Jewish pogroms, combated
profiteering, and fought the typhoid epidemic. All this concerned
Litvinov as controller, and he was wholly immersed in the whirlpool
of events.

The troubled and hungry summer of 1919 flashed by quickly.
Wilson spoke of peace no longer. Denikin 45 had seized Kharkov
and Tsaritsyn (now Volgograd). Kursk fell to his counter-revolution-
ary army on September 20, Voronezh on October 1, and Orel on Oc-

123

tobcr 13. The general was poised to capture Tula. In the autumn, the
situation became still more desperate.

In those grim days, however, a ray of hope appeared that peace
would be achieved along at least a small section of the enemy ring:
the Estonian government said it was ready to begin peace talks. The
Council of People’s Commissars appointed Litvinov head of the ne-
gotiators, and Vorovsky a member of the delegation. The talks were
to be held in Pskov, and Litvinov was about to leave for that city,
when Vorovsky was suddenly taken ill.

The day before his departure, Litvinov sent Lenin a note: “Vo-
rovsky has fallen ill and cannot go... Krasin, who says he is willing,
will go instead of him. We are leaving tomorrow at 7 p.m. I have in-
cluded in my mandate powers to sign a treaty. It is best for them
to know that our intentions are serious.”

Litvinov and Krasin started the talks with an Estonian delegation
in Pskov. It was planned to complete them in Tartu. But at this time,
having received arms from Britain and France, and using Estonia
as his base, Yudenich 46 started an offensive against Pctrograd. The
talks were broken off. Litvinov and Krasin returned to Moscow.

A few days later, however, carrying a mandate signed by Lenin,
Litvinov set out for Copenhagen on a special assignment.

Chapter 3

THE COPENHAGEN ASSIGNMENT

An important postwar mission facing Soviet diplomats was to
obtain the release of Russian war prisoners who were being detained
in Western Europe. Negotiations proceeded through the Red Cross
and with unofficial representatives of the governments concerned. The
Danish government was relatively tractable. There was hope of suc-
cess. But communications with Denmark were cut, and Moscow did
not know if Yakov Surits, a professional revolutionary who had spent
years in exile and was appointed Soviet envoy to Copenhagen after
the Revolution, had been able to accomplish anything.

Then Surits returned home, and Lenin, who was deeply troubled
by the plight of the POW’s, summoned him.

“How are you, my Danish fugitive? And how is your mission? ”

Surits said the talks broke down because the Danes had asked for
too much money— a sum the Soviet government could not afford
to pay.

Lenin jested: “You’re a registered merchant’s son, and a Jew to
boot. How come you failed to strike a good bargain? Well, since you
didn’t, you’re going Fast, to Afghanistan, as our envoy. The British
have interests there, but so do we. We want to be on friendly terms
with our neighbours.”

Meanwhile, the situation of the Russian war prisoners in Europe
deteriorated. In early 1919, the Entente and Germany agreed that no
Russian POW’s would be released without British and French consent.
The reason was that the POW’s were being recruited into counter-
revolutionary whiteguard armies.

On January 21, 1919, the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Af-
fairs protested in a note to the Entente governments: “The govern-
ment of the Russian Soviet Republic censures the behaviour of those
who, spurning elementary human feeling, want to force Russian war
prisoners to take part in a war against the Russian people... This is
contrary to the basic principles of international relations and reminis-
cent of barbarous times in human history.”

The Russian war prisoners’ situation in Germany and other coun-

125

tries was desperate. They had lived far away from their country, in a
sorry condition, for many years. Their families missed them. The
Revolution needed them. Daring escapes were made from POW
camps. The fugitives tried crossing the front lines. Many died en route
from hunger and cold.

POW’s from Hardelegen, a German POW camp, sent an appeal for
help to a conference of the Second International in Berne in February
1919.

“We Russian POW’s kept in Hardelegen camp, numbering 4,500,”
the letter said, “appeal to you ... to secure our earliest return home...
The reasons we arc given for being detained, namely, famine, disrup-
tion of railways, and disturbances in Russia, are irrelevant. More than
half the POW’s have already been sent home. We are quite prepared to
endure the famine and other privations with our families and the rest
of the 175 million Russians. We consider any further delay an act of
force.”

During their captivity, the Russian POW’s wrote, they had endured
greater privations and greater suffering than POW’s of other nations.
Yet all other POW’s had rejoined their families, while they, abused by
old Russia and Germany, about half a million in all, were being de-
tained indefinitely behind walls and under guard, and subjected to
fresh suffering in conditions that had not changed since the war.

The POW’s wrote they were willing to brave death, so long as they
could go home, and hoped the socialist conference in Berne would
come to their aid.

But theirs was a voice in the wilderness. By 1919, Russian captives
had increased in number. Foreign troops that occupied Arkhangelsk
and Vologda shipped peaceful citizens out of Russia. No few Russians
were in British bondage.

On August 13, 1919, Georgy Chicherin, People’s Commissar for
Foreign Affairs, radioed all governments about the brutal treatment of
Russian POW’s in British captivity.

“With revulsion and anger,” his telegram read, “the Soviet Govern-
ment has learned about the inhuman treatment of Russian POW’s by
the British in Arkhangelsk... Red Army men who escaped from Bri-
tish captivity, have brought word that many of their comrades were
shot on the spot after capture... They, too, were told they would be
shot for refusing to join the Slavo-British counter-revolutionary
legion.”

Meanwhile, the Red Army was developing its offensive. Gradually,
foreign troops were being forced to leave Russia. There were British
soldiers in Russian POW camps. The Soviet government made it
known it would differentiate treatment of captured British soldiers,

126

depending on whether they had been sent to Soviet Russia against
their will or had volunteered. British Red Cross representatives Colo-
nel Parker and Miss Adams were allowed to visit the British POW’s,
and saw they were humanely treated.

At about this time, the British POW’s asked their government to
exchange them for Russian POW’s in Europe. But Foreign Secretary
Lord Curzon dragged his feet. Not until November 7 did his govern-
ment finally agree to negotiate with a Soviet delegate in neutral Den-
mark. The Soviet government appointed Maxim Litvinov. London
picked MP James O’Grady.

Litvinov’s departure from Moscow was planned for mid-November.
His stay in Denmark was likely to be long, and he prepared for it care-
fully, discussing all possible eventualities with Chicherin.

Rosa Zaretskaya of the Foreign Commissariat, who knew several
foreign languages and was an experienced secretary, would accompany
him. Up to Tartu, he would also be accompanied by August Umblia,
a St. Petersburg worker who was one of Chicherin ’s bodyguards and
secretary of the Party cell at the Foreign Commissariat.

Umblia objected to Zaretskaya’s going with Litvinov. He said the
delegation should consist of Party members only, and in her stead sug-
gested Diza Milanova, who had acquitted herself splendidly in the
October fighting at Revel, as Tallinn was called until 1917.

It so happened that Lenin learned of Umblia’s objections. He asked
Lev Kamenev, a member of the Politburcau, to speak to Umblia and
settle the matter fairly.

Umblia convened his Party cell. Kamenev asked its members to
speak their minds, then took the floor himself. He said Litvinov’s
mission was a difficult one, and that two assistants would be better
than one. He made clear that the Party trusted people who were not
its members, and it was essential to respect the intelligentsia, with-
out which the Soviet system would not cope with its tasks.

The Party cell agreed, and the matter was settled.

Shortly before their departure, Litvinov summoned Milanova and
Zaretskaya. He asked what they would wear on their trip. The women
shrugged their shoulders. They said they had nothing aside from what
they had on that moment— Milanova a military leather jacket, and
Zaretskaya a warm coat.

Litvinov said money was short and they would have to go without
overcoats. But he wanted them to wear flounced dresses.

“Why flounced? What have flounces got to do with the revolu-
tion?”

A pause. Then Litvinov said:

127

“You’ll see. I expect you here in two hours. If you have no floun-
ced dresses of your own, borrow them.”

Two hours later, Milanova and Zaretskaya were back in Litvinov’s
office. They stood beside the window, wondering what would come
next.

The Foreign Commissariat’s chief accountant entered the room,
carrying a napkin-covered plate.

“Here they are,” he said, placing the plate on Litvinov’s desk.

The women thought the accountant had brought something good
to eat. But when he raised the napkin they were disappointed to see
diamonds.

Litvinov explained briefly:

“We’ve got to secure the war prisoners’ release. These diamonds
from the Tsar’s treasury will buy their release. To get them to Copen-
hagen you will sew them in the hems and flounces of your dresses.

That night Litvinov went to sec Lenin once more.

On November 7, 1919, Soviet Russia celebrated the second anniv-
ersary of the Revolution. Lenin spoke at a Bolshoi Theatre meeting,
and stayed on to see the concert that followed. But his rest was brief.
He still had things to do: chair a meeting of the Council of People’s
Commissars and Council of Defence, examine supplies that were going
to workers in the Urals, and deal with a dozen other things.

Lenin asked Chicherin to keep him informed of Litvinov’s mission.
Chicherin wondered, among other things, whether Litvinov’s trip to
a neutral country could be used, aside from the issue of war priso-
ners, to sound out the question of peace.

Lenin’s answer was prompt. He attached a Politbureau decision
saying Litvinov’s departure should be hastened. Now, the day before
the mission would leave, Lenin received Litvinov.

“When you arrive,” he said, “send the Soviet government’s peace
proposal to all embassies in Copenhagen. Follow the same line as in
Stockholm. We want everybody to know we seek peace. And obtain
the release of our POW’s by all means.”

Litvinov was given two mandates: the first, to negotiate with
governments of countries bordering on the former Russian Empire,
and with other governments hostile to the Soviet Republic; the
second, to negotiate the exchange of POW’s.

Before Litvinov’s departure, Krasin, People’s Commissar for Trade
and Industry, handed him one more mandate: to hold commercial
talks with the Scandinavian countries.

In the evening, Litvinov’s group set out for Tallinn. On the border,
they were to be met by Tomiskas, a secretary of the Estonian Foreign

128

Ministry. The Estonian government warned that the moment Litvinov
reached Tallinn, it would place him under the protection of the
British authorities and renounce responsibility for his safety.

The rickety old railway car they were travelling in, was often stop-
ped owing to disrepair of the tracks. It took a long time to reach
Pskov. There, the Moscow delegation was met by the Estonians. 1 he
Entente was blockading Russia’s western border, and capitalist Esto-
nia was taking part in the blockade.

Now they would cross the front. A covered lorry, much like an
ambulance in appearance, drove up. Its windows were pasted over
with dark paper. Litvinov and his companions sat in the back, and an
armed guard got into the driver’s cabin.

In Tartu, Litvinov and his companions alighted. The local press re-
ported Bolshevik Litvinov’s arrival. A curious crowd had gathered in
the town square. Through this crowd Litvinov drove to his hotel.

In Tartu, Umblia had said farewell. He returned to Pskov. Litvinov-
discussed formalities with spokesmen of the Estonian Foreign Minis-
try, then set out for Tallinn in the company of Estonian diplomats
and gendarmes.

The gendarmes were nosey. They accompanied Litvinov every-
where he went, even the toilet. They also tried to “patronise” his lady
helpers. But the latter objected, and were left alone.

In the Estonian capital, Litvinov’s escort of gendarmes was doubled.
All round him, Litvinov saw signs of war. Warships rode anchor in the
harbour ready for action. The hull of the British cruiser that would
take Litvinov to Copenhagen, sparkled steel-grey in the sun.

Talks with the Foreign Minister concerning a cease-fire continued
for several days. The Minister and his officials kept reminding Litvi-
nov that they could not be responsible for his life. Russian counter-
revolutionaries, of whom there were many in the Estonian capital,
could be expected to attack any minute. Milanova carried a passport
in the name of Korobovkina, but people in Tallinn knew her, which
complicated the situation.

As usual, Litvinov kept the same daily routine: breakfast, lunch,
and dinner at the same time every day. He asked a Foreign Ministry
official to show his companions and himself the sights of Tallinn.

Finally, Litvinov’s group boarded the British cruiser. The officer
who received the Soviet diplomats aboard, was curt and official. He
showed Litvinov to his cabin, and said the women would be at the
other end of the cruiser. He also warned that none of them should
speak with the crew.

0-01072

129

The cruiser passed the blockading line of ships, and set its course
for Copenhagen. It was raining, and the sea was choppy. With no one
on deck, the seamen having been ordered to stay in their quarters, the
cruiser looked deserted.

In the evening, an officer came to Litvinov’s cabin to escort Mila-
nova and Zaretskaya to their cabin. They walked along the rolling
deck, past the big guns and cases of ammunition, thinking with horror
that a sharp diamond might any minute cut the cloth and drop to the
deck.

lhe cabin was to them like a cell in death row. They sat in silence
for a while, then returned to Litvinov’s cabin. Thus passed the night.
A new day dawned. As before, the deck was deserted. Now and then,
an officer would flit by, checking that no seaman left his quarters.

After dark, they saw' the lights of Malmo. And on the third day,
the cruiser dropped anchor in Copenhagen.

Proper, prosperous, and quiet Copenhagen was a model of tran-
quility. Neutral Denmark was selling butter and bacon both to the
Entente and to Germany, accumulating wealth. True, for Litvinov
gloom was cast on the general well-being by the wretched look of the
Russian POW’s, though most of them were out of Copenhagen, on
farms, in camps, and transit pens.

The Soviet delegation moved into 4th-fIoor hotel rooms without a
lift, lhat was cheaper. Litvinov asked Zaretskaya to keep accounts
and put down how much they spent every day.

I he very first hour on Danish soil there was a row. A rumour had
spread in the hotel that Bolsheviks had arrived from Russia. The rich
pig farmers who had come to the capital for a holiday, immediately
signed out of the hotel. The hotelier was in a panic. He wailed that
he was ruined, but did not dare turn out the Soviet diplomat: after
all, Litvinov was the guest of the Foreign Ministry.

That was not all. Whiteguard rowdies appeared before the hotel.
They tried to enter the building. Danish Communists, however, had
set up a round-the-clock guard, seeing to the safety of Litvinov’s
group.

The secret police sent men to follow Litvinov: seven of them-
rosy-cheeked, wearing identical suits and hats, some with, some with-
out walking sticks. The “magnificent seven”, as Litvinov called them,
stayed on his heels wherever he went every day in the ten months of
his stay in Denmark.

Gradually, the Soviet diplomat got accustomed to the police spies.
Ihcy were quite unlike those who had once hunted for him all over
Furopc. Soon, Litvinov began using them. When he needed a cab, he
asked the spies to summon one, which the latter did.

130

Milanova and Zaretskaya had their own spies, who followed them
unobtrusively at a respectable distance. This was the two girls’ first
visit to Copenhagen, and one day Milanova called one of the spies and
said he would do better to show them the town. He was glad to
oblige. When they returned to the hotel after seeing the sights, he fell
back.

Litvinov did not object to the surveillance. But the police president
felt constrained to call on him and say the plain-clothesmen were not
watching but rather protecting him against a whiteguard attack.

Litvinov’s stay in Copenhagen was covered by the press. The Da-
nish papers printed all sorts of wild rumours, obviously supplied by
London. The restaurant where Litvinov and his companions often
lunched, was frequented by people who wanted to see the Soviet
women. The waiter who served the neighbouring tables eagerly res-
ponded to questions, and said that the two were real nationalised
Soviet women.

Good tips rewarded his pains. Until Milanova taught him a lesson:
she spoke her mind to him loudly, and in good Danish.

Sympathy for Soviet Russia was gradually welling up. The October
Revolution helped the Socialist Labour Party of Denmark to assert
itself ever more resolutely. One of its members was especially insistent
on meeting Litvinov. It was none other than Martin Andersen Nexo,
the Danish writer.

On November 27, 1919, the Politiken reported that Bolshevik dip-
lomat Litvinov had come to Denmark to negotiate resumption of dip-
lomatic relations. It reported that Nexo had waited for Litvinov in
vain for several hours. On returning home he had written the following
letter:

“1 came to see you and pay my respects between three and four
yesterday. But I was told you were out. I want to see you for two
reasons. First, to express my deep admiration for what y u and your
comrades have done in Russia for all of us, and this on my own be-
half and on behalf of the revolutionary workers of Denma.k. Besides,
I want to place my writings at Soviet Russia’s disposal. It would please
me if Soviet Russia, of which 1 am as fond as of my own homeland,
should be able to use some of my works for the good of mankind.

“If you find it possible, I should be glad to visit you. Just let me
know of the day and hour. If not, please convey our fraternal greet-
ings to the Russian workers...”

Some years later, the circumstances of the case became public
knowledge. Nexo had come to see Litvinov when whiteguards were
raising a rumpus outside the hotel. Litvinov had told his companions
to let in no one except spokesmen of the Danish Foreign Ministry.

131

All other visitors were to be told that he was out. Milanova and
Zaretskaya did so, for they did not know who Martin Andersen
Nexo was.

Two days later, Litvinov received Nexo’s letter. He replied imme-
diately, and the two met at his hotel.

Methodically, Litvinov worked towards his goal, the object of his
stay in Denmark. On Lenin’s advice, he sent the Soviet government’s
peace offer to the foreign embassies in Copenhagen. But as in Stock-
holm, his message was, in fact, hushed up. This time, however, he was
not expelled, though rumours of the Soviet peace action began to
spread in the Danish capital. The commercial world was the first
to stir.

Litvinov studied the situation in Denmark and the neighbouring
capitals. He sought contact with industrialists and diplomats, and also
gathered information about the Russian POW’s. The newspapers were
informative. Milanova and Zaretskaya helped him make a daily review
of the press for Moscow.

Relations with the Danish Foreign Ministry, at least in the early
period, were bearable. But matters were in the hands of the British,
not the Danes. Labour MP O’Grady arrived in Copenhagen, and the
talks began on November 25.

London had known why it chose O’Grady, a veteran trade union
boss, to negotiate with Litvinov. When the World War had begun, the
rebel Irish refused to fight for England. Irishman O’Grady was ordered
to mobilise his countrymen. He did, and was thanked for it by King
and Government.

O’Grady was thought to know Russia. Probably because he and
Arthur Henderson, the Labour Party leader, had gone to Petrograd to
buck up Kerensky and urge the starving, war-weary country to conti-
nue fighting.

Outwardly, O’Grady was jovial. He was of above average height,
portly, unfailingly affable, and seemingly eager to secure mutual
understanding. Only once did he observe in passing that it was hard to
find a common tongue with a country that had, as he put it, liquidat-
ed its monarch. Litvinov replied that if he remembered correctly, the
heads of English monarchy had twice rolled off the block. O’Grady
quickly changed the subject and vanished from sight behind a cloud
of cigar smoke.

During nearly all of Litvinov’s conversations with O’Grady, an un-
smiling grey little Scotland Yard man attended. He passed himself off
as the Irishman’s secretary.

The negotiations proceeded slowly. O’Grady came out with a suc-

132

cession of new versions of the POW exchange. Litvinov patiently
repeated the Soviet demand that all prisoners of war and all detained
civilians should be released and shipped to Russia, that the Entente
countries should lift their ban on shipping them out of Germany.

Every day or two the Irishman broke off the talks. He said he
was asking London for instructions. Litvinov waited. He disregarded
trivialities and insisted on the main thing-that all POW’s and civi-
lians should be released. O’Grady bargained: “You give us two, we
give you one.”

“Why?”

“Not all of your people want to go back to Russia.”

Litvinov said he wanted to see those who did not. O’Grady replied
that he could not allow it, that it was outside his competence.

In early December, O’Grady set rigid demands highly unfavourable
for Russia, and hinted that if Litvinov did not sign an agreement, the
talks would be broken off. Litvinov said he needed time to contact
his government. Until that day, his coded messages went via the
Danish radio. But just then Litvinov was suddenly told he could no
longer use the radio.

O’Grady insisted on having the agreement signed immediately.
Litvinov began discussing all the points again: the first, the second,
the third...

O’Grady, vexed, would not yield ground. And at this point, Litvi-
nov handed him a prepared package.

“What is this?” the Irishman asked.

“Soviet Russia’s proposals for trade with Britain,” Litvinov said.
“We’re prepared to buy British goods, and will pay in gold.”

It was O’Grady’s turn to ask for time to examine the proposals.
Three days later, O’Grady returned with the package unopened.
Those had been Curzon’s orders. The Irishman said he was breaking
off the talks, and leaving for Britain.

But Litvinov had won 72 hours.

One night, Litvinov and his assistants were having dinner at the
hotel restaurant as usual. A Swede from a neighbouring table, who
had always politely greeted Litvinov, brought belated news: the Reds
had crushed Yudenich’s counter-revolutionary army at the approaches
to Petrograd. On the following day, Copenhagen’s yellow press car-
ried a piece saying Milanova had signed so many death sentences in
Russia that she had lost use of her right hand. The story was by a
Swedish journalist.

The Red Army victories had their effect. O’Grady did not leave for
England. The negotiations were renewed. On a most unctuous note.
No, he, O’Grady, was always aware that Russia, a great country,

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had to be reckoned with, even though it was now called a republic.
The Irishman’s secretary was absent. He had fallen ill. And the Danish
foreign Ministry informed Litvinov that he could use the radio sta-
tion as before if he wished: the official who had made the “mistake”
of forbidding it, had been punished.

After the rout of Yudenich’s army, the blockade of the Soviet
Republic went to pieces. The Entente began showing signs of common
sense. It admitted that it was desirable to start trading with Russia.
Curzon feared that other countries might get a bigger piece of the pie.
Denikin’s final defeat and the British being compelled to leave the
Caucasus, had the effect of a cold shower. The Red Army offensive
under Frunze 47 against VVrangel 48 caused a panic.

Litvinov’s connections with Moscow hung on a thin thread: his
telegrams were .in a primitive digital cipher coded by Milanova. He
knew of the titanic efforts that Lenin and his closest associates, the
undergrounders and emigres of yesterday who now comprised the
Soviet government, were making. It was clearly visible from Copen-
hagen how Lenin’s shrewd and inspired moves were throwing a
spanner into the works of his high and mighty adversaries, making
I.ondon and Paris and all Europe give ground.

But Litvinov knew that the fight was only beginning, that hard
battles were in the offing, and not between armies only, but also in
diplomatic offices. He also knew there would be setbacks as well as
victories.

Britain was still determined to delay the departure of the POW’s
to Russia. One day, O’Grady again broke off the talks, while the grey
little man from Scotland Yard redoubled his efforts. He sent people
to Litvinov’s hotel to harass the Soviet diplomat. One day a stranger
arrived, saying he represented a furniture factory. He wanted to
know if the sensational news from Soviet Russia was true. A man in
a seaman’s uniform came. He acted still more primitively, demand-
ing that Litvinov supply him with revolutionary literature. Litvinov
asked him to leave at once. Then a strange cable came from Stock-
holm, of just two words: Emre kommen. Litvinov wondered who
might be coming from Stockholm to see him. A few days later, a
total stranger stepped into his hotel room, saying he was a Swedish
journalist. He added reassuringly that on the way from the railway
station he had changed his appearance three times in order to confuse
the police spies. Litvinov chased him out.

I he “magnificent seven” had been reinforced: new spies appeared
in the corridors and in the hotel lobby. The hotelier was in a frenzy,
he said ow'ing to Litvinov respectable people would never again stop at

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his hotel. He returned Litvinov’s advance payment, and asked him to
leave immediately.

O’Grady pretended anger. Certainly, he would try and help.
Through the Irishman, Litvinov leased rooms in an out-of-town hotel,
but the Danish government forbade him to move there. He and his
assistants were then compelled to settle for a third-rate guest house.
And there, too, spies were very much in evidence. Litvinov feared a
provocation, even a physical attack.

In the end, however, the Danish authorities permitted Litvinov to
move into the out-of-town hotel. The Irishman said he hoped the
hotel would sign a contract until January 30, and arranged to meet
Litvinov to discuss formalities. But he did not come. His grey little
secretary announced that O’Grady had left for London. He had liver
trouble and went to sec his doctor.

Obviously, the talks would drag out. Litvinov tried to divine the
intrigues spun by the British diplomatic service. He looked for a solu-
tion. Then, unexpectedly, he was deprived of his cipher-coded connec-
tion with Moscow. Felix Dzerzhinsky 49 informed him in a cable from
Moscow that the Soviet code used in communications with Copenha-
gen, Berlin, and one more European capital, had been cracked. He
asked Litvinov to confirm that he was sure of his assistants.

On reading the telegram, Litvinov turned livid, then paled. He
wrote briefly on a scrap of paper, “1 am certain”, and asked Milanova
to send the cable to Dzerzhinsky at once.

When he returned to Moscow, he told Dzerzhinsky how, he
thought, the code had been cracked: a tsarist general, former chief of
the tsarist Foreign Ministry’s Coding Department, was in England and
had probably done the job.

O’Grady returned from London. He said unctiously that the Bri-
tish gQvernment could not accept the Soviet terms of exchanging
POW’s, and was offering new terms. “The Soviet government is to
blame for the delay,” he said.

Litvinov cabled Chicherin, asking him to take immediate action.

On February 10, Chicherin sent a message to Curzon in London:
“The Soviet Government ... protests energetically against the claim
that the negotiations are taking so long through the fault of the Soviet
Government. The Soviet terms were formulated by our delegate at the
very beginning, and he has made no new demands throughout the
period of the negotiations. On the contrary, some of the original
Soviet demands were either withdrawn or reduced... On the other
hand, Mr. O’Grady’s powers were so limited that he was compelled
to consult London over every trifle, and on a few occasions awaited
replies and new instructions for several weeks. The responsibility for

135

the delays, therefore, falls entirely upon the British government.”

Chicherin’s telegram created the desired impression. Doubly so,
because the Red Army had scored more victories. No longer did
O’Grady complain about his liver, nor did he leave Copenhagen. On
February 12, 1920, Litvinov and O’Grady signed an accord on the
POW’s. The Soviet diplomat had secured the Irishman’s agreement
that the POW’s would go to Pctrograd on British ships.

The first shipload of Russian hostages seized in Archangelsk,
Vologda, and other northern regions of Russia left Britain in March
1920. The British were eager to obtain the freedom of their pilots
and senior officers, scions of aristocratic families, in Soviet captivity.

What the Russian hostages had endured in Britain, and how they
were shipped home, is a story in its own right. Here is the tale of Ivan
Krivenko, former regimental commander and member of the Com-
munist Party:

“We were held for something like eight months. During all this
time, we were given one postcard each to write home... We were
denied newspapers, and knew nothing of what was happening at
home. This was very hard to endure. So wc decided to call a hunger
strike, demanding papers and better rations. The hunger strike lasted
four days. We lay on our backs and refused to get up. Still, the British
conceded no ground.

“A sergeant of the guard who knew a little Russian came to our
barrack-room on the fourth day. He said I was being summoned by
the camp commander.

“ ‘Aren’t you tired of your little game?’ the commander asked me.

I said, let us have some newspapers, and give us better food.

“The commander said we would get rations for all the days of the
hunger strike, and warned me that my people should not overeat.

‘Tomorrow you will leave for Russia. We’re exchanging hostages,’
he said in parting.

“The men were jubilant. Wc had a Party meeting, and Party mem-
bers said they would see to it people should not overeat after the
hunger strike. Two days later, we were brought to Newcastle and went
from there by train to Portsmouth. It was the month of March 1920.
The Times and the Daily Mail of March 11 and 12 carried our photo-
graphs. Wc saw them when waiting to board the ship. They put us in
the ship’s hold, and we sailed to Denmark. In Copenhagen, the ship
dropped anchor. We wanted to see the city at least from afar, but
leaving the hold was strictly forbidden. Two of our comrades broke
the ban, and were punished.

‘The stay in Copenhagen was short, just a few hours. I was sum-
moned to the officers’ mess. There were two men at the table— one

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stocky, slightly over 40, with a plain worker’s face, the other a bit
older. The first one said he was Litvinov. The other was an English-
man, O’Grady. Litvinov asked me to take a seat and wanted to
know how we were being treated. My reply was short. I did not
complain.

“Litvinov said there was to be an exchange of hostages, and that all
terms had been agreed with Mr. O’Grady.

“1 was invited to a meal. There were bananas on the table. At that
time I did not know what they were and how they were eaten. To
avoid embarrassment, I said I was not hungry'.

“All hostages were allowed to come on deck. Litvinov addressed
us. He said Soviet Russia was alive, growing stronger, and waiting for

[ us. I made a short speech, too, thanking the Soviet government for
its concern. Then Litvinov departed, after letting us have five dollars
for cigarettes at my request.

“The ship took us to Libava (now Liepaja). From there we went by
train to Riga, and finally crossed the border home.”

Spring had come to Copenhagen. Lilacs bloomed. The city was
still more beautiful, still more prosperous, still cleaner.

Litvinov had moved back downtown. The days were filled with
cares, visits, meetings with O’Grady and other diplomats. Though the
agreement had been signed, there were still no wholesale shipments
of POW’s to Russia. A mass of formalities had to be completed. The
POW’s had to be brought closer to Copenhagen. Here they had to be
fed and provided food supplies for the voyage home.

Litvinov and his little band lived most frugally. Zaretskaya still
kept the accounts, entering every spent penny. They ate modestly.
One day, Litvinov was late for dinner. In his absence, Zaretskaya
ordered oysters, an impermissible luxury that wrecked the day’s
budget. Litvinov ate in silence, but when rising said, “By the way,
pickles taste a lot better.”

Milanova and Zaretskaya decided to make him pay for that remark.
One night, having ordered in advance, the women had oysters, while
Litvinov was served a pickled cucumber. They ate in silence, with
Litvinov mumbling something under his breath. Then the three of
them raised their heads, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

From time to time, Litvinov himself would overstep the budget,
succumbing to the temptation to see a concert or ballet. They went in
turns, so that at least one of them would stay with the suitcases. One
day Milanova and Zaretskaya went to a symphony concert, with Lit-
vinov “holding the fort”. But the temptation was too much for him.
He went to the theatre after all, and sat through the performance on

137

pins and needles, fancying all the time that someone might be rum-
maging about in their suitcases.

Funny little things occurred, too. Shortly before Jewish Passover,
one of the local papers revealed that Litvinov was the alias of a Rus-
sian Jewish revolutionary, Max Wallach. On the following day, a
Copenhagen Jew brought a basket of Passover goodies to Litvi-
nov’s hotel.- wine, matzos, knedlach, and the like. The package arrived
m Litvinov’s absence, and Zaretskaya, the secretary, had no choice
but to accept it. Litvinov, when he saw the package, was annoyed.

Take it away,” he said. Out of solidarity, Zaretskaya, too, was reluc-
tant to touch the “bourgeois gift” which, moreover, had religious
overtones. Milanova, who was a Lutheran, knew what to do: she hid
the basket in her room, and shared its contents with Zaretskaya on
the quiet.

A delegation of the Central Council of Russian Cooperatives ar-
rived in Copenhagen from Moscow in mid-April 1920. It had been
sent to negotiate all basic issues that existed between Soviet Russia
and Britain.

Leonid Krasin arrived with wife and children. lie was to go to
London to continue the talks, and, if the situation was favourable,
stay there a longer time. Krasin was accompanied by Victor Nogin, so
a few advisers, and technicians-a fairly large delegation.

Krasin had had to go, because London refused to receive Litvinov.
Downing Street could not forgive him his book, The Bolshevik Revo-
lution, which had come out in London in 1918 in two printings, end-
ing on the note that the triumphant march of socialism would not be
stopped.

Moscow asked, “Who do you wish to receive if you object to Litvi-
nov? London replied, “We don’t want any Bolsheviks; we want to
trade with Russia.”

Chicherin told Lenin about it. The latter chuckled, and suggested
asking London if it would negotiate with a non-governmental delega-
tion. The answer was yes, it would be fine if the Russian cooperatives
sent their people. Litvinov in Copenhagen was advised that he had
been appointed member of the delegation and could begin talks with
representatives of the Supreme Council of the Entente in the Danish
capital.

Krasin and Litvinov lost no time. Litvinov had prepared the ground
well for dialogue on diplomatic and economic issues.

The delegation registered at the same hotel as Litvinov. In his
usual style, Krasin picked the best suites on the first floor.

Litvinov barely managed to contain himself. He asked Krasin,

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“May 1 inquire, my dear Leonid, what money you will use to pay for
those expensive suites?”

Krasin lost his power of speech. Then he murmured something
about maintaining Soviet prestige. Later, recalling the injury, he com-
plained to Zaretskaya:

“That Litvinov of yours-a miser if there ever was one.”

5 Krasin’s remark fell on fertile soil. Litvinov’s group had been in
Copenhagen for six months, he had hundreds of thousands at his dis-
posal, but neither of his assistants ever received a salary. Nor did he
take any himself. He had warned the two women before they left
Moscow that food and lodgings was all they should count on.

When spring came, Zaretskaya hinted shyly that Milanova and she
needed light coats: their shabby clothes were attracting undesirable

( attention. Litvinov interrupted her, and asked what a coat would cost.
He frowned at the price, mumbled something under his breath, and
said he would think it over.

Was he really a miser? Some thought he was. Those who had
known him in former times, were of a different opinion. For nearly
20 years, Litvinov had no permanent home. He lived all over Europe,
and always in dire need. He remembered the Party’s financial hard-
ships. Those times he would never forget. Even as People’s Commissar
for Foreign Affairs he kept the family accounts and forbade excessive
spending.

He often spoke of economising. At the dawn of his revolutionary
career in 1903, in a letter to Georgy Bakalov, a Bulgarian writer, he
complained that the Iskra man in the Balkans, one Georgiev, had not
remitted the money due for 15 copies of the paper. “It’s not done,”
he wrote, and asked Bakalov to speak to the defaulter.

Thirty years later, he asked the Council of People’s Commissars
to allocate money to a collective farm near Moscow to buy lorries,
and to build a club. But when a prominent diplomat was prompted to
speak to him and have him ask the government to grant special rations
to higher ranking members of the Foreign Commissariat’s staff, Litvi-
nov replied angrily:

“Live like everybody else. I’ll do no such thing. Be economical.”
That was how they lived in Copenhagen, saving every penny. Once
a week, Zaretskaya showed Litvinov the accounts. But the two
women were young and pretty, and naturally wanted good things to
wear.

They tried to persuade Litvinov to change his ways. In the end,
Milanova cabled Chicherin, complaining that they were given no
pocket money. Chicherin knew Litvinov would not untie the purse
strings even if ordered. So he resorted to a trick: he requested Litvi-

139

nov to give Milanova money to buy him a pair of shoes. And prompt-
ly let Milanova know she could spend it on herself.

After Milanova had deciphered the first part of Chicherin’s reply,
hiding its last lines from Litvinov, the latter looked at her suspicious-
ly, mumbled under his breath, and said he would buy Chicherin’s
shoes himself.

The Copenhagen talks with the Entente proceeded successfully.
Swedish businessmen, too, took a realistic view of the world situation.
The new political regime in Russia, they saw, w-ould endure, and
trading with it could be profitable. The Soviet Republic deposited
25 million crowns in gold in a Swedish bank. The bank allowed a
credit of 100 million. Krasin signed a contract for 1,000 locomotives
badly needed in Russia, with a Swedish syndicate. And at the end of
May 1920, Leonid Krasin and his group left for London.

Shortly before Krasin’s departure for London, Litvinov’s wife and
little Misha (later also Tania), came to Copenhagen. The papers is-
sued by the British authorities said the bearer, Ivy Litvinova, wife of
a political emigre, was going to Russia with her son and daughter
for good.

O’Grady learned of the arrival of Litvinov’s family. He was
stunned, and asked Litvinov if it was true his wife and children were
going to Russia.

“How long will they stay there?” he asked.

“Forever.”

His family’s arrival did not change Litvinov’s way of life. There
were no family suites on the 4th floor, and they moved to the 3rd.
In other ways nothing changed, including the economising.

After the agreement with the British had been signed, the Scandina-
vian countries, Austria, Hungary, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, and
France also agreed to release Russian POW’s. It was understood the
Russians would leave for home in the early autumn.

Many things had to be settled. As plenipotentiary of the Council
of People’s Commissars, Litvinov continued political and economic
negotiations with the Entente Supreme Council. Besides, he had made
deals with Danish and other European firms, buying and shipping
goods to Russia at bargain prices.

On August 26, 1920, Litvinov let Chicherin know he had turned
down a few proposals for shoewear, but would now look around
again. The average price per pair, he wrote, was 30 to 40 crowns. Italy
was offering a 100,000 pairs of military boots at 40 liras each. Besides
it was offering flannel shirts at 19 liras, work suits at 16, trousers at
14, and greatcoats at 65. The Italians were also prepared to sell a few

140

hundred airplanes at a relatively low price, and also some 400 lorries.
Could he offer Italy Batum oil in payment? In Trieste, Litvinov
added, he had bought 1,500 tons of copper, which was being shipped
via Vladivostok.

Chicherin showed Litvinov’s message to Lenin. Lenin underlined
the 100,000 pairs of boots, the greatcoats, the few hundred airplanes,
and the lorries. He suggested that Alexei Rykov 5 1 and F.froim Sklian-
sky 5 2 should at once discuss Litvinov’s proposals with Andrei Lezha-
va, Deputy Commissar for Foreign Trade. The goods should not be
allowed to slip through their fingers. The commodities Litvinov pur-
chased were shipped to Soviet Russia by sea or rail.

The French wanted to discuss terms of trade. A contract had been
concluded with Jensen & Co., a Danish firm, for seed shipments, but
it was dragging its feet and the matter had to be settled. Swedish
businessmen wanted to know if there would be an airline between
Stockholm and Moscow via Petrograd. The Norwegians asked if Russia
wanted to buy herring, while itinerant diplomats were sounding out
the question of concessions.

Everything had to be agreed, all questions had to be answered. Lit-
vinov travelled about the city ... in the company of police spies. They
rushed about on his heels, cursing their lot, and praying the Soviet
diplomat would soon leave quiet, prosperous Copenhagen.

The first ship from Britain to pick up the POW’s arrived in Sep-
tember. Litvinov, accompanied by representatives of the Danish and
German Red Cross, went to a POW camp near Copenhagen. A German
doctor was in charge. Emaciated, clothed in rags, but happy they were
going home, the POW’s rushed aboard the ship, crowding into cabins
and holds. Litvinov, Milanova, Zaretskaya, members of the Danish
and German Red Cross, and some diplomats came aboard. Lazar
Shatskin, first secretary of the young Communist International, com-
pelled to leave Germany owing to the anti-communist terror there,
was also on board. A Copenhagen newsman was taking pictures.

The time of departure arrived. The soldiers crowded the deck.
They had no idea of all the subtleties of the ten-months-long di-
plomatic battle. All they knew was that the battle was won by their
country, the Soviet Russia they did not yet know. They waited im-
patiently for the whistle to blow, and cheered loudly when the
steamer finally set off.

Chapter 4

THE ESTONIA ASSIGNMENT

After his return from Copenhagen, Litvinov’s stay in Moscow was
fairly short. Soviet Russia was looking for economic contacts with
Western Europe. In February 1920, it concluded a peace treaty and
established diplomatic relations with Estonia. This was splendidly
accomplished by Leonid Krasin.

Soon after the treaty was signed in Tallinn (then still called Revel),
Isidore Gukovsky, an old Bolshevik who was in the Party since 1898,
and had worked on the newspaper Novaya Zhizn with Litvinov in
1905, was assigned to the diplomatic service. lie did not have the
status of ambassador, and was formally a representative of the Central
Council of Cooperatives and plenipotentiary of the People’s Commis-
sariat for Foreign Trade. In this capacity he set about arranging
economic ties with Estonia. Estonia’s importance as a commercial
partner increased. With its help Soviet Russia hoped to arrange trade
with Western Europe.

Gukovsky, however, did hot stay long in Tallinn. His health, under-
mined during his underground years, deteriorated. He went to Mos-
cow for medical treatment, had a car accident, and died in Septem-
ber 1921.

His successor was Litvinov. For a good reason. lie had negotiated
with the Estonian government before. Besides, the mission in Copen-
hagen had been carried off brilliantly, with a number of political and
economic problems being settled to boot.

In early January 1921, Litvinov left for Tallinn as political and
commercial envoy. On January 13, he handed the Estonian govern-
ment his credentials signed by Lenin.

In Tallinn, Litvinov first stayed at the Golden Lion Hotel, where
other members of the Soviet political and trade mission lived. Later,
he moved into a modest flat, and still later into Hotel Bristol, also
patronised by members of the mission.

The Soviet colony lived in a climate of comradeship, harmony, and
mutual respect. Litvinov employed a few local Communists to help
out at the mission.

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of different nationalities, and had learned to find among them friends
close in spirit and ideas.

In the early years of the Soviet diplomatic service, Chicherin and
Litvinov used to enlist the services of foreign Communists in drawing
up important Soviet diplomatic documents, and never had occasion to
regret it.

Walmar Adams, member of the Estonian Labour Commune, who
was then editor of The Hammer in Tartu, a man who had seen the in-
side of many a prison in bourgeois Estonia, got to know Litvinov soon
after the latter’s arrival in Tallinn.

Adams: “1 met Litvinov at the Soviet Mission in Tallinn in 1921.
He suggested I help him out with specifically local things, that is,
monitor the Estonian press, translate the more important items, and
the like. I was then 22, just out of prison, and had a job teaching.

“Our first conversation was fairly long. It took place in Hotel Bris-
tol. Litvinov had several telephones on his desk, and a large pile of
newspapers and magazines. He received me most affably. Dressed in
a plain suit, portly, with lively, kind eyes and a natural manner of
speaking, he immediately won my trust.

“I told him about the political situation in Estonia. He asked me a
lot of questions, and took down my answers. He wanted to know
everything about the country, then gave me some paternal advice.
1 was intending to leave Estonia. He said I should not.

“At one point, Litvinov wanted the help of another member of the
Mission. He picked up the phone, but nobody answered. It was a
Saturday. ‘They’ve all gone. Can’t be helped,’ he said with a kind
smile.”

The situation was generally difficult. The West refused to reco-
gnise the Bolshevik government. At home, the counter-revolution
would not lay down its arms. Here and there across the country, it
attempted to seize power. The Kronstadt mutiny 5 was being plotted.
Kulak risings kept breaking out in the countryside. The republic was
tormented by famine and a vicious typhoid epidemic.

The bourgeois government in Estonia terrorised Communists and
other progressives. Counter-revolutionaries who had been swept out
of Russia by the Red Army, found refuge in the Baltic states and spe-
cifically in Estonia. Those who were living in Tallinn hurled threats
against Soviet diplomats on the assumption that the local authorities
would condone it.

143

There had been unpleasant incidents. One night, when Litvinov was ^
returning to the mission, his car suddenly came to an abrupt stop and
turned round its axis, with all windowpanes smashing. A cable had
been stretched across the street. Luckily, there were no serious con-
sequences. But acts of diversion did not stop, and vigilance was on
the order of the day. Litvinov was cool. He refused to panic, though
he knew his car with the red flag infuriated the enemies of Soviet
Russia.

Litvinov’s activities in Estonia were of different kinds. Contacts
with the business world were maintained chiefly by his assistant,
Leonid Stark, scion of a military family, a model old Russian intel-
lectual, a diplomat with broad vision, and a convinced Bolshevik. He *
did business with local firms, and Litvinov, though occupied with
other problems, followed the market closely and jumped at every
favourable opportunity to buy and ship desired goods to Soviet
Russia. An Estonian scholar, Dmitry Rudnev, who has seen docu-
ments related to Litvinov’s activities in Tallinn, observed: “Even a far
from complete list of telegrams received by Litvinov from Deputy
Commissar for Foreign Trade lezhava and member of the Commis-
sariat’s Collegium Voikov and Litvinov’s replies give a good idea of
the scale on which the Soviet trade mission worked in Estonia.”

On January 24, 1921, for example, Lezhava asked Litvinov to
speed up the shipment of a steam turbine to Omsk.

On the following day, he asked Litvinov to ship nails to Petrograd,
along with implements and equipment for timber felling. He wrote
that “any delay will be most sensitively felt by the economy of our
republic”.

On February 5, Voikov asked Litvinov to speed up delivery of
scythes. On February 11, Lezhava sent a request for paper, which
Litvinov should buy at Johanson’s paper mill in Revel. On February
21, Lezhava asked Litvinov to buy fodder grass seed. Four days later
Litvinov was asked to send medical supplies bought in Estonia as
quickly as possible. On February 28, Litvinov, in his turn, asked
Lezhava to speed up despatch to Tallinn of the 23 locomotives that
were to undergo repairs at the Tallinn Repair Works.

On March 7, Litvinov informed Lezhava that he had concluded a
contract for 1,500,000 scythes, which would soon be shipped to Rus-
sia. On March 16, Litvinov let Lezhava know that he had sent a ship-
ment of butter, and that the Estonian government was willing to sell
sugar and rye.

Litvinov was always true to himself: he would buy only if the deal
was profitable. Tie would often write to Lezhava: “The prices are
high— I recommend waiting.”

144

On April 7, Litvinov sent Lezhava additional information about a
contract for a large lot of potatoes for Soviet Russia. In those days
potatoes were, indeed, a major problem— so important, in fact, that
the chief of the food train would, upon arriving in Moscow, come
personally to Lenin’s office to confirm that the freight had arrived
safely.

Litvinov had no pity for profiteers, for anyone who tried to sell
Soviet Russia sub-standard goods. He annulled contracts, made people
pay compensations for breach of contract, and went to court when
necessary, refusing to spend a single Soviet kopeck needlessly. Trade
with Estonia was fairly large for those times. In the ten months
that Litvinov was political and trade representative in Tallinn, some
315,000 tons of various foodstuffs and other freight was shipped from
there to Soviet Russia. If transit freights bought by Litvinov in other
countries, and shipped home via Estonia, were added, the total would
amount to five times as much.

The importance of what Litvinov and his assistants were doing in
Tallinn was inestimable. Soviet Russia was so badly in need of all
goods that even small shipments were controlled and distributed by
the government. On April 19, 1921, for example, along with other
important problems, the Council of People’s Commissars discussed the
needs of Gidrotorf, a major enterprise, and ruled that it would be sup-
plied 150 buckets, 200 knives of different kinds, and some 500 yards
of cloth for its kitchens and hostel.

Hundreds of things, big and small, had to be done. And Litvinov
did them, for all of them were important, all of them had to be done
in time, and to best advantage.

In the spring, an icebreaker from Britain entered Tallinn harbour.
It had been ordered by the former Provisional Government, and the
British shipyards had built it. It so happened that Litvinov was the
purchaser. A few years later, the icebreaker was named after Leonid
Krasin.

The ship arrived in Tallinn with a British crew. A Russian captain
and crew came from Petrograd to take over. The English invited all
concerned to a banquet, and wished the icebreaker good sailing. Lit-
vinov spoke a few words of gratitude to the British seamen. He
spoke of the solidarity of workers of all countries. He said Soviet
Russia was badly in need of solidarity. If only few people under-
stood the historic role of the socialist state and its proletariat today,
he said, a time would come when all nations would see it.

As in the Copenhagen days, Litvinov worked hard to accomplish
the aims of his mission. Despite the doings of local reactionaries and
their foreign patrons, the Soviet Mission became a centre of Tallinn’s

10-01072

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political life. It was connected with the economic and political world
of Estonia, and through it with other countries by a thousand threads.
Vladimir Shenshev, a former Red Army man who was first secretary
of the Soviet Mission in Tallinn, recollected:

“Litvinov won considerable prestige in Tallinn. Calling on members
of the government or attending receptions, he looked so dignified that
he inspired reverence. No bourgeois diplomat in Tallinn could com-
pare with Litvinov in intelligence, knowledge, and breadth of vision.
He was head and shoulders above any other ambassador. This en-
hanced Soviet Russia’s prestige. The staff of our Mission was proud
of their chief. Whenever he came back from a stay in Moscow, he
would speak before the local Soviet colony on the international situa-
tion and the state of affairs at home. We liked his talks. All of us
were still young, and learned a lot from him.”

In the spring of 1921, Alexander Bogdanov arrived in Tallinn en
route from Moscow to Western Europe. A prominent revolutionary
in the past, he had known Litvinov well, and had left Saratov secretly
in his company to attend the RSDLP Conference in Tammerfors.
A trained medical doctor, philosopher, and economist, he had done a
lot for the revolution. A Bolshevik from the outset, he had been a
member of the Bureau of the Majority Committee along with Litvi-
nov, and then also a member of the Central Committee. During the
years of reaction that followed the first Russian revolution, however,
he parted ways with Bolshevism and formed a group called Vperyod
and became a leader of the otzovists, 5 4 coming to grips with Lenin.

After the October Revolution, Bogdanov had worked fruitfully in
various fields, notably medicine. The last job he had was that of dire-
ctor of the Moscow Blood Transfusion Institute. It was here that he
laid down his life, doing a dangerous transfusion experiment on
himself.

With lodgings at the Soviet political mission, Bogdanov volunteered
to lecture to the staff. A brilliant speaker, he got into the spirit of it
and, quite unexpectedly, began recalling the principles of the otzo-
vists, and the activity of his Vperyod group. He lost his bearings, and
began careening amidst untenable theoretical potholes.

People listened attentively. Litvinov, too, did not intervene. But
when the lecture was over, he approached Bogdanov, and said:

“I must disappoint you, I cannot accept what you’ve said in the
lecture. Will you let me speak?”

Bogdanov was embarrassed. Naturally, he invited Litvinov to make
his retort.

What happened thereafter is related by V. Shenshev, who was
present:

146

“As Bogdanov was finishing his lecture, I was urgently called to
the phone next door. A comrade shouted that I should hurry back,
for Litvinov was speaking.

“Litvinov was virtually wiping the floor with Bogdanov. He ex-
posed Bogdanov’s old, anti-Leninist mistakes. His sarcasm was murder-
ous. We listened delightedly to his brilliant and persuasive speech. We
knew what Litvinov had been doing underground before the Revolu-
tion-all the activities he engaged in at different stages of the revolu-
tionary struggle. That day, however, we saw him in a new light. For
us, most of whom were young Communists, it was a splendid school
of political infighting.”

Clara Zetkin visited the Soviet Mission en route from Berlin to the
Third Congress of the Communist International in Moscow. She was
received with flowers. Tallinn’s entire Soviet colony gathered in the
main hall. She spoke about the situation in Germany, and asked many
questions herself.

Another prominent visitor to the Soviet Mission was Isadora Dun-
can. She was also en route to Soviet Russia because she thought that
there, in the new society, she would more easily start a ballet school
along new principles. She was uncowed by the tales of hunger and
terrorism said to be reigning in Russia. Isadora was invited to the mis-
sion’s dining room, and when she saw people eating soup and stewed
beef with potatoes, she exclaimed happily:

“I thought so! All the talk about famine in Russia is a lie!”

People told her it was not a lie. Soviet Russia was still in the grip
of hunger.

“That only makes me more determined to go there,” she replied.

And she went. She spent four years in Soviet Russia, and was an
eminent success.

On holidays, parties and dances were held at the Mission. People
sang songs, and everybody had a good time. On one such day, the red
flag was torn off the Soviet Mission building. Braving possible pot-
shots by counter-revolutionaries, members of the staff hoisted a new
flag at once.

The whiteguards were behaving more and more outrageously. Litvi-
nov did his utmost to keep relations with the Estonian government on
an even keel. He was aware of the importance of the Soviet-Estonian
accords. But when the whiteguard acts became increasingly provoking,
he turned to the Estonian government. On March 21, 1921, in a sharp
note, he pointed out that new detachments of whiteguards were being
formed in Estonia, and “criminal elements were intending to make
Estonia a base for hostile actions against the Russian Republic.”

In personal conversations with the Estonian Prime Minister and

147

Minister of Foreign Affairs, Litvinov warned of possible grave conse-
quences. The Estonian government assured Litvinov that no such
military detachments would be allowed in Estonia.

But what is the good of promises if they are not backed up by
deeds? During the mutiny in Kronstadt, the whiteguards in Estonia
tried to organise a “Russian government”. The moment Litvinov
learned of it, he got in touch with the Estonian Foreign Ministry.
On his insistence, seven whiteguards, the initiators of that anti-Soviet
action, were expelled from the country. The bourgeois government
had to show it was faithful to the terms of the Tartu Treaty, and
agreed to establish telegraph connections with Soviet Russia. This
was important, because talks were already underway about telegraph
and telephone connections with the Scandinavian countries, which
would partly cross Estonia.

Litvinov had seen little of his family since leaving London. Assign-
ments had followed in quick succession— to Stockholm, Christiania,
and Copenhagen. Long partings alternated with short reunions. Litvi-
nov was homesick. He longed to see his wife and children. He had
gone to Tallinn alone, for there was no telling how long he would
stay there. In the spring of 1921, however, he assumed he would stay
in Estonia until the end of the year, and summoned his family.

Ilis son was five, his daughter four. Litvinov saw the family at in-
tervals, for most of the time he travelled. Whenever they had a free
evening, they would go walking. Litvinov taught his children Russian.
His wife, too, was learning Russian. With some difficulty.

Once, seeing a cow, she suggested in Russian:

“That is a cow! But how do I call a cow’s husband?”

The Litvinovs’ lessons of Russian caused no little merriment among
the staff of the mission.

In early May 1921, Litvinov was recalled. On May 10, the Council
of People’s Commissars had a new appointment for him. Lenin was in
the chair. Chicherin’s deputy, Lev Karakhan, would go to Warsaw as
envoy, and Litvinov would take his place. Litvinov was also put in
charge of foreign currency operations. He was to control the Repub-
lic’s foreign exchange. Lenin told him that, for a while, he would have
to do the job in Tallinn as well. Estonia was still one of the outlets in
combating the West’s economic blockade. Litvinov returned to his
post.

The situation in Estonia was tense. The counter-revolutionaries
there were highly active. The persecution of Estonian Communists
continued. Litvinov did everything he could to save those who had

148

been sentenced to death or long terms of imprisonment. His diplo-
matic standing, however, complicated matters. Every demarche in
defence of a Communist was qualified by the Estonians as interfer-
ence in the country’s domestic affairs. But Litvinov would not desist.
He made the most of the prestige that Soviet Russia had gained by
then in various quarters. And he let it be known that Soviet Russia
would stand by the persecuted Communists and defend them in every
possible way.

By the end of his stay in Estonia (he left in October 1921) Litvi-
nov managed to exchange 167 Estonian Communists for 247 Esto-
nian citizens sentenced to prison terms in Soviet Russia for spying
or criminal offences.

As supervisor of foreign exchange operations, Litvinov amassed
enormous sums running into hundreds of millions of gold roubles,
which were spent on buying machinery, grain, fabrics, and medical
supplics-items that were essential in combating the bitter privations
in Soviet Russia.

Only those who were involved knew anything about these transac-
tions. One of them was an old Russian railway engineer, Y. V. Lomo-
nosov. He had been picked by the Council of People’s Commissars
to secure the shipment from Sweden of 1,000 locomotives that Krasin
had ordered earlier. The Russian railways were in a sorry state. Freight
cars were scattered about the enormous country, standing idle on
rusted tracks in sidings. There were no locomotives. Freight could not
be transported. And locomotives had to be paid for in gold. It was up
to Litvinov to organise the transfer of gold to Sweden.

The operation was carried out in the utmost secrecy. No one knew
anything about it, except those whom Litvinov trusted implicitly.
And when everything was checked, rechecked, and checked again,
the gold packed in cases was put aboard a ship heading for Sweden.

Later, Litvinov shipped gold to France, Switzerland, and other
countries. The stream of goods arriving in Soviet Russia increased
steadily. Lezhava continued to send telegrams: send nails, send slate,
send flour, sacking, medical supplies, scythes, and sickles.

And Litvinov did as he was told. In addition he sent everything he
could buy or exchange, for the people of Russia were in dire need
of goods.

On April 21, 1928, addressing a session of the Central Executive
Committee, Litvinov said:

“In 1921 I was authoriesd by the Council of People’s Commissars
to supervise foreign exchange transactions and the sale of Soviet gold
abroad. I was in Revel, and several hundred million roubles’ worth

149

of gold passed through my hands. Most of it was sold directly or
through various middlemen to large French firms, which shipped
the gold either to France or to Switzerland. But in the end, all that
gold came to rest in the safes of the Reserve Bank of the United
States.”

The things Litvinov accomplished in Tallinn at that time could well
have become the subject of an engaging adventure story. But it was
the grim story of Soviet Russia’s fight for economic survival.

In the summer of 1921, Litvinov was summoned to Moscow ever
more frequently. The reasons may be found in the minutes of the
Council of People’s Commissars. On August 23, it examined the trans-
portation and reception of German and Swedish locomotives. On
September 13, with Lenin in the chair, it discussed the granting of
concessions to certain foreign firms. Litvinov was summoned as
member of the Concession Committee. On October 11, the Council of
People’s Commissars discussed the application of SKF, a Swedish
firm, which wanted a concession. And again Litvinov was summoned.

In October 1921, Maxim Litvinov came to Tallinn for the last time.
A few days later, the Soviet government announced that his stint in
Estonia was over. TIis place was taken by Alexander Stark.

Litvinov knew that a new job was waiting for him. Probably no
easy job. But he did not know that in the several months to come he
would take part in the historic battles which Soviet diplomacy mount-
ed in Genoa and the Hague.

Chapter 5

IN GENOA AND THE HAGUE

In 1921 Litvinov was appointed Deputy People’s Commissar for
Foreign Affairs. Chicherin supervised all Soviet diplomatic activity,
and specifically the Eastern and Protocol departments. Litvinov was
put in charge of organisation and the European departments. But there
was no rigid differentiation. The economic and legal departments, for
example, were the responsibility of both Chicherin and Litvinov.

Litvinov also devoted much of his time to the Consular Depart-
ment, and the Department of Diplomatic Couriers. All correspond-
ence, too, went through his hands. But Litvinov s attention was cen-
tred on European affairs. lie considered it a top priority to establish
diplomatic and economic relations with the European countries.
Here he made the most of his long-time and close ties with the Europ-
ean labour movement in his emigre years, having represented his
Party on various bodies of the Second International and knowing its
leaders, of whom many held high posts in the governments of their
countries. He now used his acquaintanceship with Huysmans, Van-
dervelde, and other Western statesmen, in the interests of Soviet
Russia.

Lenin’s high opinion of the young Soviet diplomatic service was
justified. The Commissariat’s Collegium gathered at regular intervals,
settling the key foreign-policy issues promptly and to best advantage.
Lenin’s sagacious guidance was constantly felt. He kept his finger on
the pulse of international affairs, and was wont to assist and advise,
tactfully but insistently. His involvement helped to cement the staff
of young, energetic, devoted, and selfless members of the Foreign
Commissariat.

But what about Chicherin and Litvinov? The relationship of two
statesmen of their stature is certainly of public interest. It was not
until 1921, in effect, that Georgy Chicherin and Maxim Litvinov had
really come together as statesmen whom the Party appointed to do
one and the same job. They worked hand in hand until 1928, when
Chicherin fell ill, went to Germany for treatment, and never again
returned to his post.

151

Their previous contacts had been sporadic. Their meetings in Lon-
don— at the Herzen Circle, at parties and public debates, and then as
members of the Commission for the Repatriation of Russian Emigres,
were of an entirely different nature. Nor should we close our eyes to
the fact that the two distinguished Soviet diplomats had also done
different things for the Revolution before it began. Chicherin, scion
of a wealthy aristocratic family, had a first-class education, but
renounced the career of a tsarist diplomat and a place in high society
He was one of the many Russian enlightened progressives who contri-
buted enormously and invaluably to the revolution.

Litvinov’s road was different. When the two first met in London,
Chicherin was rather more a Menshevik. Litvinov, on the other hand,
was secretary of the local Bolshevik group. They differed over
methods of struggle and over how the Revolution should develop.
Then the imperialist First World War clarified the situation. Chicherin
shifted to Bolshevik positions. This was logical, as his devoted service
to the Soviet Republic confirmed.

Lenin thought very highly of the two men. It was on his recom-
mendation that they were both assigned to the diplomatic service.
Lenin’s many letters to Litvinov speak of his trust in him. And here
is Lenin’s succinct comment on Chicherin in 1918, a time when many
people in the Party mistrusted the former nobleman:

“Chicherin is an excellent worker, conscientious, clever, know-
ledgeable.”

People who had worked with both Chicherin and Litvinov for
years, have also left behind valuable comments.

Anastas Mikoyan: “Maxim Litvinov was a sharp-witted and reso-
lute man. He was quick on the uptake. I had the privilege of observ-
ing his diplomatic career over many years. He was no dogmatist, and
had a knack of winning the hearts of Western statesmen. He turned
this to good advantage for the Soviet Union. A flexible politician, he
manoeuvred skilfully.”

Ivan Maisky: “Chicherin was a distinguished personality. He had
a far-ranging mind, and a knack for constructing major foreign-policy
concepts. Litvinov ... was a man of action, always concentrated on
getting something specific from his opposite number— a treaty, a pro-
tocol, a convention.”

Yevgeny Gnedin (chief of the Commissariat’s Press Department):
“When Litvinov was appointed People’s Commissar in 1930, he called
in the press. Seated on the porch of the Commissariat’s house of
receptions in Spiridonovka Street, he addressed the journalists stand-
ing round him. He spoke kindly of his predecessor, whom he des-
cribed as a distinguished diplomat. Their relationship had, indeed,.

152

always been marked by mutual respect and a sense of principle.”

Nikolai Lyubimov (member of the Soviet delegation at the Genoa
Conference): “The relationship between Chicherin and Litvinov was
always one of tact and mutual respect. Chicherin was People’s Com-
missar and Litvinov was his Deputy, but this did not mean they treat-
ed each other as superior and inferior. They considered themselves
equal, having learned to respect each other back in London. True,
their style was different, but not their political views. They were
also different in appearance. Litvinov seemed drier, Chicherin more
emotional. But, in fact, this outward impression did not always con-
form with their inner state. Personal contacts with both of them have
led me to conclude that although Chicherin was outwardly warmer,
his inner world was probably cooler. Due to his past. Their styles were
different, but both were incredibly hard workers. Litvinov’s orderly
style and the methodical way he went about things, were amazing.”

Certainly, there had been arguments between Chicherin and Lit-
vinov, and differences too— over particular points, and over major
issues of principle. But both had from the very outset compelled
respect for the Soviet Union and Soviet diplomacy by carrying
through Lenin’s foreign-policy principles.

In 1922, Soviet diplomacy faced the truly titanic job of splitting
the anti-Soviet front of imperialist powers. On January 6, the Supre-
me Council of the Entente powers decided to hold an international
economic conference in Genoa. On January 7, the Soviet government
received an invitation to take part.

This did not come as a total surprise. The Entente’s armed cam-
paign against Soviet Russia had failed. The five-year period of non-
recognition, with the resulting absence of economic ties, had done
much harm to the European and world economy. Britain was more
strongly affected than other countries, for it had always had a brisk
trade with Russia. And Prime Minister Lloyd George had, indeed,
made sure that the Entente’s Supreme Council lifted the blockade
of Russia in 1920, whereupon he invited a Soviet delegation to Lon-
don. No trade agreement was signed, however, because of the Red
Army offensive on the Polish front. Britain broke off the talks to
exert pressure on the Soviet Republic. When an agreement was finally
signed on March 16, 1921, Soviet Russia was thus granted de facto
recognition.

Other countries followed suit. On May 6, 1921, Germany signed a
trade agreement, Norway on September 2, Austria on December 7,
Italy on December 26, Sweden on February 1, 1922, and then also
Czechoslovakia on June 5.

153

In September 1921, a conference in Brussels discussed what was
termed aid to Russia. Point one of its resolution said the conference
favoured aiding the Soviet Republic in combating famine and restor-
ing the economy as a whole. But this was made conditional on wholly
unacceptable terms. The resolution said, for example, that extensive
aid would follow if the Soviet government accepted responsibility for
the Tsar’s debts and returned all nationalised foreign property.

The Foreign Commissariat responded with a note on October 28.
It ridiculed the capitalist world’s attempt to relate aid to the hungry
with payment of the Tsar’s debts. Since it wanted economic ties with
other powers, it said Soviet Russia was prepared to pay some pre-war
debts, especially to small holders of stocks and shares.

Small holders were part of the mass of voters and influenced public
opinion in the countries concerned. Now, they raised their voice, call-
ing on their governments to come to terms with Soviet Russia as
quickly as possible. It was the Soviet note, indeed, that paved the way
for the Genoa Conference. The British government had taken the
initiative of launching talks with Moscow. Thereupon, came the offi-
cial invitation to send a Soviet delegation to Genoa. It was most
desirable for all the Allied powers, it said, that the Soviet delegation
should be headed by Citizen Lenin, whose presence would no doubt
help resolve most issues favourably.

News arrived on the same day that Lloyd George had prevailed on
his partners to invite vanquished Germany as well. The underlying
meaning was clear: Britain wished to counterpose defeated Ger-
many to victorious France which, contrary to British interests, had
begun playing the role of hegemon in Europe.

Moscow accepted the invitation to Genoa. Point one of the Enten-
te’s resolution promised that no nation would arrogate the right of
imposing upon another nation the system of its internal life and
manner of government. It said every country had a right to the
system it preferred.

This was a good basis for a dialogue.

The Central Executive Committee appointed Lenin leader of the
Soviet delegation. Chichcrin was picked as his deputy. With the
reservation that if Lenin, Chairman of the Council of People’s Com-
missars, was unable to go to Genoa, Chicherin would have the pre-
rogatives of leader of the delegation. And that was what happened.
Though it should be stressed that preparations for the Genoa Confer-
ence, the first official international forum at which Soviet diplomacy
crossed swords with bourgeois diplomats, proceeded under the guid-
ance and with the participation of Lenin.

On March 27, 1922, in the Central Committee’s political report to

154

the 11th Congress of the Communist Party, Lenin related how the
delegation was formed and how its objectives were formulated: “I
must say that in the Central Committee we have taken very great
pains to appoint a delegation of our best diplomats (we now have a
fair number of Soviet diplomats, which was not the case in the early
period of the Soviet Republic). The Central Committee has drawn up
sufficiently detailed instructions for our diplomats at the Genoa Con-
ference; we spent a long time discussing these instructions and con-
sidered and reconsidered them several times.”

Lenin had deep trust in collective work. On February 3, 1922,
the Party’s Political Bureau instructed the top Soviet statesmen and
diplomats to put down proposals for the Soviet delegation in Genoa
in writing. This also applied to members of the government delega-
tion— Chicherin, Litvinov, Rudzutak, 5 5 Krasin, Vorovsky, and
Joffe. 5 6

Litvinov submitted his ideas to the Political Bureau early in Fe-
bruary. He made clear that he had withheld his view of the effect
the Genoa Conference would have on consolidating Soviet power
inside the country or on the working-class movement in Europe. lie
added, however, that “an agreement based on the resolutions adopted
by the Entente powers in Cannes was likely to prepare the ground
for dc jure recognition of the Soviet Government, though such recog-
nition might not be immediate.”

Litvinov described the situations that would follow the various
possible outcomes of the conference, set forth the action programme
of the Soviet delegation, and submitted proposals.

“Recognition by at least a few countries,” he wrote, “would great-
ly reduce the chances of a spring or summer intervention. If such an
intervention were still objectively possible, non-recognition would
not help France to extend large aid to Poland, Finland, and Roma-
nia. It is not likely that Britain will grant any considerable aid to
Russia, but if the rift between Britain and France widens, aid in small
quantities is quite possible.”

Hopes of a foreign loan, Litvinov wrote, were delusive. If foreign
governments even managed to raise the capital (a paltry sum of 20
million pounds), this would inevitably involve international control
and patronage over Russia, and lead to the revival of a single bourgeois
front. Recognition, on the other hand, would clear the path for pri-
vate enterprises. But, Litvinov added, credits would not resolve the
current year’s food shortages.

If the conference failed, he wrote, this would revive an anti-Rus-
sian coalition, retard recognition, and hold up private credits, but not
for long. The industrial crisis and unemployment would compel

155

Sweden, Norway, and other countries to lift the blockade, conclude
separate agreements with Soviet Russia, and, if forced to, also recog-
nize it. If the Anglo-French differences continue, Britain would take
the same path, and then also Italy.

In any case collapse of the negotiations in Genoa would not be a
disaster. Consequently, Litvinov wrote, the delegation must shape its
tactics and set the limit of its concessions accordingly, and see to it
that the blame for the collapse falls on the other side, timing it to
affect the narrow interests of the relatively small group of Russia’s
creditors.

The delegation, Litvinov suggested, should welcome and uncondi-
tionally accept the first point of the Cannes resolution concerning
the immunity of the economic and governmental systems established
independently by every country. This should be treated as the basis
of the Cannes resolution and any possible agreement.

The second point of the resolution should be treated as referring
to future deals with Russia. The Soviet government should declare
that it will consider capital and property brought by foreigners inviol-
able. On no account, however, should it agree to denationalise enter-
prises that had belonged to foreign industrialists. This demand, Litvi-
nov pointed out, was contrary to the Cannes resolution.

The essential condition on which the Soviet Union may recognise
any foreign debt would be the Allies’ recognition of the Soviet coun-
ter-claims.

Since a breakdown was likely at the very beginning of the confer-
ence, Litvinov argued, the delegation should at once, if only briefly,
set forth its views on all issues, namely, the Soviet refusal to pay
outstanding debts, the Soviet withdrawal from the European war, the
Soviet counter-claims, and revival of the European economy.

Europe’s rehabilitation, Litvinov maintained, was possible only if
the sides cancelled all debts and claims, if they concentrated on dis-
armament, including naval disarmament, and if currencies were stabi-
lised through the redistribution of gold reserves among the European
countries and the United States in pre-war proportions through long-
term credits. Litvinov recommended partial universal devaluation of
paper money in the impoverished countries, and elimination of artifi-
cial political barriers (corridors) hindering commercial relations and
the commodity turnover. This, Litvinov said, was no communist pro-
paganda, but quite acceptable palliatives in the view of many bour-
geois scholars.

Russia, he added, should accept partial disarmament commensurate
with the length of its borders and the size of its population, provided
other countries did the same.

156

In addition to Allied compensation for losses incurred through the
Civil War and foreign intervention, Russia laid claim to a share of the
132,000 million gold marks which the Allies had obtained under the
Versailles Treaty. In proportion to casualties, dead and wounded,
Russia should receive 35,000 million gold marks, which it would let
the Allies keep in payment of the war debt if other Soviet counter-
claims did not balance out that figure. It should be made clear, Litvi-
nov amplified, that this scheme would spare the tormented people
of Germany any new burdens.

In the question of reparations, of altering the Versailles, St. Ger-
main, and other French treaties, Litvinov pointed out in conclusion,
the delegation should support the neutral countries against the Allies
irrespective of any agreement with Germany.

Litvinov concluded his programme in most lucid terms. In all
European matters, he wrote, it was oriented on Britain. Entirely
logical. Because France, the other major European power, was set
upon a rigidly anti-Soviet course, while influential quarters in Britain
wanted trade and economic ties with Soviet Russia, and Lloyd George
was prepared to establish diplomatic relations with Moscow. Besides,
the British working class was vigorously opposed to any interven-
tion in Russia. Litvinov also attached enormous importance to
contacts with the war-weary Germans and a possible agreement
with Germany. This he made quite clear in his notes. In fact, the
Soviet government’s essential position on the eve of the confer-
ence counted on an international grouping that would include Ger-
many.

Losing no time, Lenin wrote a letter to the members of the Politic-
al Bureau on this score: “Perhaps we should start at once only person-
al talks (without any papers) in Berlin and Moscow with the Germans
about contacts between us and them at Genoa?... Perhaps we should
at once suggest secretly to all our plenipotentiary representatives to
put out feelers with the governments concerned to find out whether
or not they are prepared to start unofficial secret talks with us on a
preliminary marking out of the line at Genoa?”

Litvinov’s note reflects some of the features of his character that
had surfaced quite distinctly at the very outset of his revolutionary
career. He stuck to principle in his evaluations. He did not shrink in
face of difficulties. His judgements showed insight into the most
perfidious and cunning designs of the enemy. He anatomised enemy
plans. And had boundless faith in the Bolshevik cause, in the future of
Soviet Russia. While his proposals relating to finance, set forth in just
two dozen lines, would be a credit to any finance minister. Years
later, at a most trying time for him, Litvinov evidently had grounds to

157

think that, perhaps, the government would let him run the country’s
finances.

At the 11th Congress of the Party, Lenin defined the aims of the
Soviet delegation, and did so with the utmost clarity:

“Needless to say, we are going to Genoa not as Communists but
as merchants. We must trade, and they must trade. We want the trade
to benefit us; they want it to benefit them. The course of the issue
will be determined, if only to a small degree, by the skill of our dip-
lomats... We are going to Genoa for the practical purpose of expand-
ing trade and of creating the most favourable conditions for its suc-
cessful development on the widest scale. But we cannot guarantee the
success of the Genoa Conference. It would be ridiculous and absurd
to give any guarantees on that score. I must say, however, that weigh-
ing the present possibilities of Genoa in the most sober and cautious
manner, I think that it will not be an exaggeration to say that we shall
achieve our objective. Through Genoa, if the other parties to the nego-
tiations are sufficiently shrewd and not too stubborn-, by-passing
Genoa if they take it into their heads to be stubborn. But we shall
achieve oilr goal!”

The Soviet delegation, including its technical staff, had been picked
some time before the 11th Congress of the Party. But there could be
no question of Lenin’s going to Genoa. Resolutions of workers’ meet-
ings and telegrams from all over the country reached the Party’s
Central Committee and the government. People feared for Lenin’s
life and objected categorically to his going abroad.

It seemed for a while that Chicherin, too, would not be able to go.
The strain he had been under in recent months led to a serious illness.
On January 16, Lenin circulated among members of the Political
Bureau Chicherin’s letter on the situation at the Commissariat for
Foreign Affairs. He wanted the best doctors to examine Chicherin
and decide whether a vacation could be put off until after the confer-
ence or Chicherin should have it at once. Lenin wanted to know if
Chicherin would bear the tense preparations for the conference. He
wondered who would take charge at the Commissariat in Chichcrin’s
absence. “Special responsibility,” Lenin wrote, “must be placed on
someone (perhaps Litvinov + Vorovsky + Joffe + P. P. Gorbunov?) for
seeing that when Chicherin and the whole delegation leave for Genoa,
all the Foreign Commissariat’s affairs are handed over to specified
persons in complete order.”

As Lenin suggested, substitutes were appointed in the event of
Chicherin’s illness or if he should leave Genoa before the conference
ended. Lenin suggested two trios: Litvinov + Krasnov + Christian Ra-
kovsky or Litvinov + Joffe + Vorovsky.

158

On January 27, 1922, a special session of the Central Executive
Committee appointed representatives of the Ukraine, Azerbaijan,
Georgia, Armenia, and other republics, to the delegation. Nariman
Narimanov, Alexander Bekzadian, and Budu Mdivani represented the
Caucasian republics, and Christian Rakovsky the Ukraine. The Genoa
Conference was thus the first international forum attended by dele-
gates of Soviet national republics.

The period before the delegation’s departure was filled to over-
crowding with various urgent business. Chicherin, Litvinov, Krasin,
Vorovsky, and Rudzutak checked and rechecked the Soviet position.
Lenin, who was then staying in the country near Moscow, sent note
after note to Chicherin and Litvinov, giving advice and issuing instruc-
tions.

He called attention to the need for extensive publicity of the pre-
parations for the Genoa Conference in the press, and wanted Chiche-
rin and Litvinov to contact the editors of Pravda, Izvestia, and other
central papers, to outline the subject matter, and pick writers of
future articles. On January 26, Lenin’s suggestion to that effect was
backed up by a Political Bureau decision, and soon Litvinov’s little
room at the Foreign Commissariat turned into an editorial office of
the Moscow papers. That was when Litvinov displayed qualities which
Moscow editors and journalists appreciated so deeply. He did not
impose his ideas. He merely elucidated the matter at hand and asked
them to set forth the chief thought to the country’s best advantage.
As for the rest, he left everything to their discretion.

All organising related to Genoa was Litvinov’s responsibility. Boris
Stein was appointed secretary of the delegation. Nikolai Lyubimov
recalled that Litvinov hand-picked experts, consultants, advisers, and
the technical personnel. He did things methodically, giving every point
deep consideration, and never revised earlier decisions.

Something that happened at the time weighed heavily on Litvi-
nov’s conscience in years to come. Shortly before the delegation’s
depature for Genoa, Lenin asked him to put Inessa Armand’s 5 7
daughter on the technical staff. The young girl was undernourished,
and Lenin, who highly esteemed her mother (she died of cholera in
Nalchik) was eager to help. But the technical personnel had already
been picked. Litvinov said as much to Lenin, and Lenin did not
insist.

“Well, nothing is to be done, if there’s no vacancy,” he said.

Litvinov could not forgive himself for not having done what Lenin
asked. He said as much many times to his family and friends.

Chicherin’s health improved a little, and he took part in the prepa-
rations for the conference, drawing up projects, weighing alternative

159

situations with the rest of the delegation, and maintaining continuous
contact with Lenin.

Boris Stein recollected that the delegation met three times a week,
with Chicherin reading aloud notes, instructions, and scenarios sent
by Lenin. “Lenin, brilliant strategist that he was,” Stein said, “told
us how we should behave in various situations, and suggested tactical
moves to further our main objectives.”

The main objectives were to break through the single front that
had shaped against Soviet Russia at the London conference of experts
in March 1922. Lenin posed dozens of questions and considered all
kinds of situations. “Like a chess player,” Stein observed, “he
weighed his own moves and those of the adversary, and suggested how
to counter anything the adversary may undertake. It was a diplo-
matic school for us--those notes and recommendations of Lenin’s.”

In the several weeks before the delegation’s departure, the Foreign
Commissariat staff knew neither rest nor sleep. A special commission
had been set up to calculate the losses suffered by Soviet Russia from
the armed intervention of the Entente countries. Information was col-
lected from all parts of the country. Litvinov had a large metal case in
his office where this information was kept. One of the experts, Niko-
lai Lyubimov, was directly responsible for calculating the losses.
Litvinov let him have his office, and moved into another little room.

The world press, notably the European papers, printed hundreds
of articles about the coming conference with the Bolsheviks. One
ludicrous story followed another. One set of conjectures totally re-
pudiated others. Not only the yellow press but also reputable bour-
geois papers reported that the Bolsheviks would wear red shirts and
black waistbands, boots, and tall fur hats.

True, a few Soviet journalists, notably Lev Sosnovsky, went to
Genoa wearing Russian blouses, thinking they were thus “throwing
down the challenge to capitalism”. But all the rest wore European
clothes.

To be sure, it had not been easy to equip the delegation. It con-
sisted of 63 people, and all of them needed clothes. Here is the story
of the delegation’s cipher clerk, Nikolai Klimenkov: “We were all
poorly dressed. None of us had anything to wear. Some decent cloth
was unearthed and the Commissariat’s tailor, Zhourkevich, had his
hands full making suits for us. Chicherin had a tail-coat made. So did
Krasin.”

As for Litvinov, he was not too well equipped, it appears. Years
later, in the autumn of 1941, when he came to Washington as Soviet
Ambassador, Emery Kcllon recalled in This Week that when he had
seen Litvinov first— at the Genoa Conference— he had been among

160

the most poorly dressed: he wore an ill-fitting old suit.

On March 27, the Soviet delegation left for Genoa. It travelled in
two railway cars, and there was no difference between superiors and
subordinates. The technical personnel ate the same fare as Chicherin,
Litvinov, Krasin, and the others.

On the way, the Soviet delegation had two stop-overs— one in
Riga, the other in Berlin. Representatives of Poland and Estonia also
came to the Latvian capital. Out of fear of the Entente, the Baltic
states accepted the Soviet proposal for a conference to work out com-
mon tactics in Genoa (which, to be sure, did not prevent them from
doing the bidding of the French).

In Berlin, in four days of discussion, Chicherin, Litvinov, and Kra-
sin represented the Soviet side. Germany wanted a rapprochement
with Soviet Russia. Vanquished in the world war, handcuffed by the
Versailles Treaty, the country was gripped by inflation and unemploy-
ment. Its economic ties with the outside world were disrupted. It had
always needed Russian raw materials and other goods, its market had
looked East for years.

On May 6, 1921, a commercial and political agreement was signed
by the Russian Federation and Germany in Berlin. Further rapproche-
ment would enable Germany to fight for equality in the postwar
system of European states. Chancellor Joseph Wirth was aware of the
importance of closer relations with Moscow, foreign Minister Rathe-
nau, on the other hand, who played a big part in shaping German
policy, was (as a major industrialist) closely connected with the in-
dustrial concerns, and cast about for contacts with the West, espe-
cially France. He feared that any agreement with the Bolsheviks
would create a rift.

In those four days it seemed, however, that a treaty with Ger-
many would be signed in the end. When its text was ready and the
German statesmen were about to affix their signatures, Rathenau
suddenly declared it was a Saturday, the ministers were out of town,
and he was unable to summon them. He had no inkling that the
situation would change radically in a few days, and his country would
be glad to sign the historic Treaty of Rapallo with Soviet Russia.

That April Saturday, the Soviet diplomats, however, left Berlin
empty-handed. Litvinov jested that he had lived through worse times
in the German capital, locked up in a Berlin prison. Chicherin, too,
had seen the inside of a prison in Berlin in 1906. Krasin’s recollections
were less sombre: following his illicit escape from Russia to Ger-
many, he had a job as a leading Siemens-Schuckert expert.

The Soviet delegation left Berlin on a glorious spring day. The grass
was turning green. The train raced across South Germany, then

1 1-01072

161

through Austria. The delegation arrived in Genoa on April 6 and
settled in Santa Margherita, a winter health resort. It was assigned one
of the finest hotels, the Palazzo Imperiale. This time, Litvinov did not
object to the high cost, but made up for it on other items.

Boris Stein recalled the highlights of April 10, the opening day of
the conference:

“The conference opened in San Giorgio, an old palace of the Ital-
ian Renaissance. Delegates, experts, and secretaries were seated in
the hall. Journalists and those lucky few who had admission tickets,
were in the gallery. The hall was buzzing with excitement. It was like
a beehive. All the delegations had already taken their seats. Then the
most distant door opened. The first to enter was Chicherin, and on his
heels came the other members of the Soviet delegation. The buzzing
stopped at once. A deep silence fell. All you could hear was the click-
ing of cameras. The photographers were busy taking pictures of the
Soviet delegation. They became aware that wc were all dressed like
everybody else. Gradually, the excitement subsided, and the confer-
ence began.”

How it went off is past history. Luigi Facta, the Italian Prime
Minister, was elected to the chair. When the French Foreign Minister,
Louis Barthou, had had his say (in those days, he was one of the chief
organisers of anti-Soviet campaigns in Europe), Joseph Wirth, the
German Chancellor, took the floor. The French Foreign Minister had
been loudly applauded. In Wirth’s case the applause was thinner.
Thereupon, Chicherin spoke. He delivered his speech in French, then
repeated it in immaculate English so that Lloyd George should hear it
at first hand, without an interpreter.

Reporting on the first day of the conference, Richard Washburn
Child, United States Ambassador to Italy, informed the State Depart-
ment that no stirring speeches were made at the opening session of the
Genoa Conference, save that of Chicherin. In his forceful speech he
set forth everything Soviet Russia could offer the world; also, he
called for disarmament.

L'Humanite ' s description of the first day of the conference was
nothing less than sarcastic: “The Boches, to whom war-prisoner rules
were not applied, entered the hall. Then came the Bolsheviks; not on
all fours with a rope around their necks... Wirth, of course, had the
appearance of a beaten dog... He was tactful enough not to accept
Facta’s magnanimous statement that there were no victors or losers
any more. Chicherin spoke mildly— well-meaning one minute, a little
sarcastic the next. He did not conceal his resolve, promised nothing
at all, even said that the West was bluffing. This was too much.
Barthou was spoiling for a fight. He wanted his little triumph at any

162

cost, and suddenly erupted. Since no one had been sworn in before
entering, he demanded everybody should be sworn in before leaving.
With hands on their swords, and the Bolsheviks with theirs on their
knives, they would swear they’d rather die than go against the Can-
nes resolutions— as conceived by M. Poincare. A touching sight.
Alas, the eloquent provocation of our top delegate was greeted
by an even more eloquent silence. The general embarrassment in-
creased. It looked as though matters would culminate in a scandal.
The host, who wanted to end the day peacefully, hastened to say that
the very fact of everybody’s presence was proof enough of the general
accord.”

Sittings, negotiations, and meetings followed in quick succession
from the 10th to the 16th of April. One after another, the Soviet
delegation repudiated the inventions of the reactionary press, which
maintained that the Bolsheviks had come for one purpose only: to
conduct propaganda. Chicherin tore this charge to shreds. He ex-
plained that Soviet Russia and the capitalist countries had the same
idea about the future of the world, lie said the Soviet delegation had
come to establish relations with commercial and industrial quarters
in all countries. If its terms were accepted, he added, contacts would
be wholly possible. It became clear at once, that Soviet Russia would
not pay the tsarist debts out of hand, that it would do so only if
this should be compensated by credits for its economic rehabili-
tation.

Chicherin demanded that the Soviet counter-claims should be
recognised. He demanded peace along the Soviet borders, and de jure
recognition of the Soviet Government. To top this, he made the pro-
posal for universal disarmament and peaceful coexistence. This flowed
directly from the letter he had sent to the Party’s Central Committee
on March 10, 1922, concerning preparations for the Genoa Confer-
ence. On Lenin’s instructions, he had expounded what he described
as a pacifist programme which he would set forth in Genoa. This was
not easy for Chicherin to do: he had opposed pacifism all his life.
To speak in its favour went against his grain. But Lenin had asked him
to do so, and he did it brilliantly. On the margin of his letter, Lenin
put down his comments: “Hear, hear” and “Correct”, and underlined
some of the phrases.

The disarmament programme that Chicherin made public in Genoa
elicited a worldwide response that did Soviet Russia a world of good.

The Soviet programme in Genoa was built on the ideas of Lenin
and the Central Committee. Much of what Litvinov had suggested,
was taken into account. Boris Stein put down what he described as its
unassailable principles:

163

1) A realistic assessment of the two possible results of Genoa
(agreement with the capitalist camp or failure of the conference) was
given by Litvinov in his notes in a Leninist spirit, and totally agreed
with Lenin’s ideas about the prospects of the Genoa Conference and
the limit of the concessions the Soviet delegation could make, as ex-
pressed in his public speech of March 1922.

2) The tactic worked out by Chicherin, Litvinov, Krasin, and Rud-
zutak, as approved by the Central Committee (and Lenin), was faith-
fully followed by the Soviet delegation at different stages of the
conference. The approval concerned the concrete documents in which
the delegation formulated its commercial proposals. The first such
document was the Memorandum of April 20, 1922, which was handed
to the Entente delegations in reply to the London report of experts.
It said Soviet Russia refused to discuss the Allied terms, which were
incompatible with the dignity and sovereignty of the Soviet Republic,
and put an end to attempts to consider the Soviet Republic a defeat-
ed country.

By the end of the first week it was quite clear that the confer-
ence could not succeed. But this was not a setback for Soviet Russia.
Lloyd George, who was among the more farsighted bourgeois states-
men, wished to arrange for trade with Russia, and sought contacts
with the Soviet delegation. On April 14 and 15, at Villa Albertis, he
arranged for British, French, Italian, and Belgian leaders to meet
Chicherin, Litvinov, and Krasin. The conversation revolved round
the war debt and the counter-claims of the Soviet Republic.

Nikolai Lyubimov, who attended as expert, wrote in his remem-
brances:

“I memorised the discussion at Villa Albertis in every detail. Speci-
fically, because it was I who had drawn up the counter-claims to the
Entente countries for damage inflicted by the intervention of 1918-20.
I drew them up on Chicherin’s instructions, which he had received
directly from Lenin. The sum of our counter-claims for the interven-
tion and blockade, when Litvinov named it, was hypocritically des-
cribed by Lloyd George as ‘absolutely incredible’. In his retort, Chi-
cherin stressed that the Entente governments were wholly responsible
for the enormous damage inflicted by the foreign incursion and blo-
ckade.

“When we met in the afternoon of April 15, Lloyd George rejected
the Soviet counter-claims, and refused to reduce the debt and claims
to the Soviet Government... By repulsing the assault of the Entente
diplomats at Villa Albertis, the Soviet delegation delivered a crushing
and unexpected blow to their plans.”

Now the Soviet delegation could tackle its second objective. As

164

Lenin had said at the 11th Congress of the Party, “Through Genoa,
if other parties to the negotiations are sufficiently shrewd and not too
stubborn; by-passing Genoa if they take it into their heads to be
stubborn. But we shall achieve our goal!”

It would have to be “by-passing Genoa”. This was clear. In Rapallo, .
not too far distant from Genoa, the Soviet diplomats signed a treaty
with Germany. The enemies of Soviet Russia were infuriated. But
they were also taken aback. Russia now had direct, diplomatic rela-
tions with Germany, and both sides renounced whatever claims they
had to each other.

The events that preceded Easter Sunday on April 16, when the
Rapallo Treaty was signed, developed at an indescribably hot pace.
Seeing that the West, first of all France, was refusing to recognize
Soviet Russia, that it insisted on the return of nationalised enterprises
and was devising a programme for Russia’s economic and political
subjugation, the Soviet diplomats sought a rapprochement with Ger-
many. They had noticed that the Allies treated defeated Germany and
its diplomats with scorn, and that not only France but also, in sub-
stance, the other Western delegations were driving it into a corner.
They had noticed, too, Lloyd George’s wish to counterposc Germany
and France and that he would probably, therefore, overlook Russia’s
rapprochement with its major Western neighbour. Backed up by
Lenin’s ideas, the Soviet diplomats- Chicherin, Litvinov, Krasin,
Rudzutak, and Vorovsky— acted with the speed and precision of a
boxer in the ring, showing flexibility and the requisite prudence and
caution.

George Kennan, U.S. historian and former ambassador to Moscow,
wrote in his book, Russia and the West, that during the first week of
the conference, Walter Rathenau and Joseph Wirth had thrice asked
to be received by Lloyd George, but were turned down contrary to
all rules of diplomatic courtesy. On Good Friday, Gannini, Secretary
of Italian Foreign Minister Szantser, told the Germans that the talks
at Villa Albertis were proceeding well and an agreement would soon
be reached.

On Saturday, April 15, rumours of an agreement between the
British and French, on the one hand, and the Russians, on the other,
grew stronger still. The Germans felt themselves left out in the cold.
All evening they sat morosely in the lobby of their hotel, and went to
bed dispirited and worn out.

But during the night, a representative of the Soviet delegation
called up.

Alexander Ehrlich, who was present, recalled: “Around two in the
morning I was asked to unlock the reception room where we had the

165

telephone. Alexander Sabanin, chief of the Foreign Commissariat’s
economic-legal department, called the German delegation and asked
Maltzan to come to the phone. The conversation was short. It lasted
no more than three minutes. Sabanin requested Maltzan to tell Chan-
cellor Joseph Wirth that Chicherin would be happy to receive the
German delegation at the Palazzo Imperiale in Santa Margherita at
11.00 a.m. to continue negotiations of a Soviet-German agreement
begun on April 4, 1922, in Berlin.”

Diverse evidence is at hand of what had happened at the German
residence after Sabanin’s call. Details differ, but the substance is the
same: Wirth, Rathenau, Maltzan, and the other German delegates held
a stormy conference. Not all members of the German delegation want-
ed to accept the Soviet invitation. Rathenau least of all. But in the
end, they decided to go to the Palazzo Imperiale, and continue the
talks that had begun in Berlin.

Let Ehrlich continue his tale: “Rathenau, Hilferding, Maltzan, and
von Simson arrived at the door of our hotel at 11 a.m. on April 16.
The German diplomats looked weary. They were grey in the face,
their eyes were inflamed, and their appearance spoke of tension and
fatigue. It was the obvious result of their night-time ‘pyjamas’ confer-
ence. 1 led them to the lounge, where the talks would proceed. Then I
let Chicherin and the other government delegates know that the Ger-
mans had come. The negotiations took no more than two hours.
Thereupon, the German delegation retired to its hotel, while a few
German technicians stayed on to help draw up the final text of the
treaty. Two hours later, the German diplomats returned, and in about
another hour the treaty was signed.”

On the following day, April 17, 1922, Litvinov cabled Moscow:
“Our semi-private negotiations with the Supreme Council had alarmed
the Germans, and Rathenau came running yesterday more dead than
alive, and offered us to sign the agreement he had rejected when we
were passing through Berlin.”

The signing of the Rapallo Treaty stunned the world. The news-
papers said it had the effect of a bursting bomb. Western newspaper
commentators shouted the Russians had tricked the Allies. The Ger-
man bourgeoisie split in two: some were indignant, others saw the
Rapallo Treaty as a step towards peace and Germany’s economic
recovery. Official German quarters declared that the Russo-German
accord was favourable not only for both countries, but also showed
the conference the right way of settling disputes with Russia and
securing universal peace.

Many years later, former Chancellor Wirth would say: “Unfortu-
nately, Germany departed from the road we had taken in Rapallo.

166

This led to disaster for the German people. History showed with dead-
ly logic that friendship and cooperation with Russia was vitally neces-
sary for the Germans.” *

That was a victory “outside Genoa”. The single front of capitalist
states was disrupted. Soviet diplomacy had secured Soviet Russia’s
emergence in the world arena.

The 1922 breakthrough was achieved by diplomats of the Lenin
school. Guided by Lenin’s genius at all stages, in preparation for
Genoa and during the conference itself, they had worked for their
goal with admirable resolution.

For Chicherin as leader of the delegation, and for Litvinov as his
deputy, the Genoa Conference had been a most important milestone
and a most trying test. It brought out Chicherin-’s diplomatic talents.
Litvinov, too, along with the other Soviet diplomats, played an out-
standing role.

Here is the evidence of Nikolai Lyubimov:

“Litvinov handled the main organisational work of the Soviet dele-
gation as concerned policy and diplomacy. He supervised the work
of the experts. He took part in a number of conference committees,
where he spoke on crucial political and economic issues... Revolu-
tionary work during his emigre years in Britain and his activity as a
Soviet diplomat prior to Genoa raised his prestige not only among
members and staff of the Soviet delegation, but also among Western
delegates.”

Certainly, Litvinov was faithful to his habits and principles in
matters big and small. He was in charge of the delegation’s finances,
and as in Copenhagen, did not allow uncalled-for expenses. Not even
members of the government delegation, to say nothing of the staff,
could do anything about it. Ilya Levin, who was Chicherin’s secretary,
doubled as treasurer, and issued liras and other currency strictly by
Litvinov’s orders. When hard-pressed, he would say, “Go sec Litvi-
nov.” Litvinov would be sure to reply, “No extra expenses.” One day,
People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs of Armenia, Alexander Bek-
zadian, said to him: “My dear Maxim, don’t be so hard on us. Look
around— at the sun, the sea, and all the beauty. The soul yearns for
a little merriment. Why not shell out a little, dear Maxim.”

“No,” Litvinov said.

Bekzadian complained to Chicherin. Chicherin sighed, “I can’t help
you. You know perfectly well who had authorised Litvinov and what
orders were given.”

• From my conversation with ex-Chancellor Wirth in 1954 —Author.

167

Many years later, Bekzadian humorously related this episode to a
circle of friends.

On May 19, after the concluding session of the Genoa Conference,
the bulk of the Soviet delegation left for Moscow. Everybody was in
high spirits. The diplomats were taking home excellent results.

But for Litvinov international negotiations were not over. A new
conference, that would probably discuss matters not settled in Genoa
was to open in the Hague six weeks later.

The Soviet government knew, of course, that there was little hope
in coming to terms with the West on economic issues. But Lenin
was sure it was useful to continue the dialogue. At the end of May,
he cabled Chicherin in Genoa: “The best thing for us is another
conference in three months or so.” That would give Soviet Russia a
chance to come to grips with the question of debts and private pro-
perty, and to offer foreign firms concessions on profitable terms for
Soviet Russia.

The foreign intervention was over, but the imperialists had not
given up their intention of organising a new campaign against Soviet
Russia. In June 1922, members of Konsul, a German fascist organisa-
tion, assassinated Walter Rathenau, the man who had signed the
Rapallo Treaty. Anti-Soviet sentiment ran high all over Germany.

In Russia, too, the situation was uneasy. True, the Soviet govern-
ment had proved its viability and constructive powers in the previous
four-and-a-half years. The New Economic Policy, Lenin’s brainchild,
was being launched. A good harvest was in the offing for the first time
in years. But it was impossible to remedy all the ills caused by the
World War, the Civil War, the intervention, and the dislocation, in so
short a time. Thousands of people were still dying of hunger in the
Volga lands and the Urals. Thousands of homeless were still roaming
the roads. Bandit gangs were still on the rampage. The Party concealed
none of the problems from the people. It had faith in the nation’s
common sense and wisdom. Difficulties were bravely combated, with
success on the home front paving the way for success in the world
arena.

In mid-June 1922, the line-up of the Soviet government delegation
to the Hague Conference was announced in Moscow. Litvinov was
appointed leader of the delegation. Its members were Christian
Rakovsky, Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars of the
Ukraine, Leonid Krasin, People’s Commissar for Foreign Trade,
Nikolai Krestinsky, envoy of the Russian Federation in Germany, and
Grigory Sokolnikov, Deputy People’s Commissar for Finance, with
Boris Stein as the delegation’s secretary-general.

Litvinov was made leader on Lenin’s suggestion, and Lenin signed

168

the appointment. In spite of the fact that shortly before this an in-
cident had occurred in Genoa that greatly annoyed Lenin. Krasin
had argued that since it was impossible to obtain the desired foreign
loan any other way, serious concessions should be made as concerned
confiscated foreign property. Learning of this, Moscow feared Chi-
cherin and Litvinov would make concessions not envisaged in the
Central Committee directives. On May 2, Lenin drafted a cable to
Chicherin: “Highly regretful that Chicherin and partly Litvinov have
fallen for Krasin’s foolishness." The Central Committee categorically
demanded that the directive should be strictly abided by.

In subsequent negotiations, Chicherin and Litvinov followed the
Central Committee’s instructions to the letter. Their activity , like that
of the rest of the delegation, was commended. So, when a leader was
being picked for the Hague Conference, where the same question of
confiscated private property would be at issue, Lenin suggested that
Litvinov head the delegation, of which Krasin should be one of the
members.

Before leaving for the Hague, Litvinov gave an interview to Izves-
tia. “The Hague Conference,” he said, “is a continuation of Genoa.
It will pick up where Genoa .left off. To go back to the points of
departure of the Genoa talks, as France wishes, would be work that
leads to nowhere. Though no final agreement was reached in Genoa,
we did come to an understanding with our adversaries on some
points, though conditionally.”

Litvinov was aware, of course, that his interview would be closely
examined by his opposite numbers. So he crossed all the t’s and
dotted all the i’s. There could be no question of returning private
property. The Soviet Republic would grant concessions, but only if
they worked in its interests. Credits were badly needed. But the Rus-
sian proletariat would not accept slavery as the price. Litvinov ended
the interview as follows:

“In any case, the delegation is leaving for the Hague with the
same resolve as in Genoa to defend the gains of the revolution, the
sovereignty of the worker-peasant government, and the interests of
the working people. Russia and the Soviet Government are gaining
strength. We could certainly use credits, which would speed up
Russia’s economic recovery. But we’ll survive without credits if there
is no way of getting them without relinquishing our sovereignty or
paying exorbitant interest.”

The Soviet delegation left Moscow for the Hague on June 19.
Krasin, who was chairing a conference of foreign trade officials in
Moscow, left a little later. In Berlin, the delegation was joined by
Krestinsky.

169

The other side had also been busy preparing. The Western powers
tried to work out a joint approach. Ten days before the Hague Con-
ference opened, representatives of the capitalist countries resolved
to make Russia return nationalised foreign property. They worked
out special tactics. Sittings held jointly with the Soviet delegation
would be called sittings of the Russian Commission. Sittings of West-
ern delegations alone would be called “non-Russian”.

It was clear from the line-up of the delegations that the Western
business world was determined to fight to the finish for the return
of its capital in Russia. Belgium, for example, was represented by
Catier, a bank director who had had enormous interests in Russia.
Britain was represented by Leslie Urquhart, formerly chairman of
the board of directors of the Russian-Asiatic Bank and owner of the
Lena Goldmines in Siberia. Though the British delegation was headed
by Philip Lloyd-Greame, President of the Board of Trade, Urquhart
was cock of the roost. The other Western delegations were picked on
the same principle. Shell Oil was also strongly represented.

On June 26, the Soviet diplomats arrived in the Hague. On that
day, Litvinov took a step that won him the sympathies of the press
corps. The Western delegations had been stolidly refusing all informa-
tion. Litvinov, on the other hand, called a press conference. It was
attended by 60 journalists from Europe and America.

The public relations team of the Soviet delegation cabled Moscow
the contents of Litvinov’s press conference, and two days later it
appeared in Pravda.

“The journalists,” the Pravda reported, “showed a strong interest
in Litvinov’s statement. He denied the rumours of any change in
Soviet foreign and home policy, and so on. He stressed that Soviet
Russia’s policy in relation to the West was the same as in Genoa, but
that unlike Genoa, the Russian delegation considered the conference
a business conference chiefly on the question of credits.

“Replying to questions, Litvinov spoke of the outlook for the har-
vest, and of the trial of Socialist-Revolutionaries. The clarity of Litvi-
nov’s statements are said to have created a good impression. As in
Genoa, the Russian delegation in the Hague is likely to be at the
centre of attention.”

In the Hague the capitalist world tried again to secure what it had
failed to secure in Genoa, though the more long-sighted diplomats
knew the attempt was futile. A private property subcommittee
gathered on June 29. Lloyd-Greame was in the chair. On his side of
the table sat the French, Italian, and Belgian delegates, on the other
side sat Litvinov, Krasin, and Krestinsky.

One delegate proposed discussing the question of returning enter-

170

prises and property to their former owners. Impatiently, he asked Lit-
vinov on what terms a factory owner would be able to re-start his
enterprise. He said “owner”, not “former owner”. Sir Lloyd-Greame,
who regained his common sense for a moment, said it was probably
premature to discuss terms on which to resume operation before
factory owners were restored in their rights.

Litvinov did not even reply. The question of private property was
clear. The Soviet people had nationalised factories and mines. And
nationalised they would remain. Granting concessions was a different
story. Litvinov said, “I want to point out that leasing certain enter-
prises to private parties is not the chief concern of the Russian govern-
ment. The Russian government does not care whether these enter-
prises once belonged to private persons, to the state, or to some orga-
nisation. It is guided exclusively by the interests of the Russian
Republic.” He wanted this to be clear, he said, so as to avoid misun-
derstanding.

Lloyd-Greame pretended not to understand. He said repeatedly he
hoped private property would be returned to its owners. Yes, he knew
the Soviet diplomats had made matters quite clear in Genoa, but all
the same...

The Belgian representative intervened. Litvinov, he said, had pulled
no punches and said the Soviet government did not intend to restore
property rights. Was this ^o? Quite, Litvinov replied.

Committees and subcommittees succeeded each other day after
day. Gradually, it sank in that the Soviet people would not return
nationalised property. At this point, the Soviet delegation announced
that Soviet Russia was prepared to grant concessions to foreign
capital. The project had been examined in Moscow before the delega-
tion’s departure to the Hague. It was decided to offer capitalist
Europe oil, coal, railway, and a few other concessions. Saying this,
Litvinov repeated that the main condition was that the concessions
should be beneficial for Soviet Russia.

Asked what enterprises were up for consideration, the Soviet dele-
gation pulled out a typed list. Here is how Boris Stein described the
reaction:

“When we handed them the list, a commotion broke out. We re-
membered the story of a trained monkey at the court of a Greek king.
One day, when the monkey was dancing, a handful of nuts was flung
in its direction. The monkey forgot everything on earth and began
picking up the nuts. It was a monkey again. The scene at the confer-
ence when the Soviet delegation distributed the list of concessions was
much the same. The diplomats snatched up the list and looked frantic-
ally for their former enterprises. But they did not see what they want-

171

cd to see. Urquhart’s possessions, for example, had been divided into
three different projects, each of them in a different sector of industry.
This started a real scramble.”

That was not the end of it. Krasin delivered a public lecture on
why private property would never be restored in Soviet Russia. The
lecture lasted 40 minutes and created an enormous impression. Krasin
and Litvinov made it explicitly clear that, if desired, concessions
would be granted-but on terms profitable to Soviet Russia. Leslie
Urquhart was in a fury. He tabled a resolution saying no capitalist
should ever seek a concession in Soviet Russia until confiscated pro-
perty was restored to its owners. There could be no question of cre-
dits, he added.

In Genoa, the Soviet diplomats had asked for government loans. In
the Hague, on Lenin’s instructions, Litvinov put the matter different-
ly. He suggested that industrialists should grant Soviet Russia com-
modity credits guaranteed by their governments.

The U.S. administration, which feared that some delegation at the
conference might come to terms with Russia, followed the Soviet
diplomatic moves with some anxiety. On July 15, the U.S. ambassa-
dor in the Hague warned the Western delegates that the United States
would not tolerate any agreement with Russia.

On July 18, when it was quite clear that credits would not be
forthcoming, Litvinov wrote a letter to the People’s Commissariat for
Foreign Affairs. “Given the personalities on the foreign delegations,
especially the British,” he wrote, “and with the French and Belgians
obviously determined to scuttle the conference, it is hard to expect
results. The deeper reason is the German problem, which has suddenly
grown to disastrous proportions and captured the British govern-
ment’s total attention. To settle that problem, Lloyd George will have
to move closer to France for a time, and, as before in such cases, his
prime bargaining chip is the Russian question.”

Though it was clear that he would get no credits, nor resolve the
other issues, Litvinov was in no hurry to slam the door. He laid a
gangplank into the future, as it were, by suggesting to pick up the
dialogue later. At the July 19 sitting, he took the floor and summed
up what had been accomplished. Soviet Russia, he said, was pre-
pared to make some concessions if the Western powers would grant
credits. But they had said credits would not be given. This wrecked
the basis for the talks laid in Genoa.

On July 22, Pravda wrote: “Litvinov’s speech had unmasked the
Allies who wanted to skin us alive... The Soviet delegation did well to
show which of the two sides was against peace between Soviet Russia
and the capitalist countries. This will help us expose the predaceous

policy of restoring the Russian and world economy at the expense of
the Russian workers and peasants.”

The public at home followed the infighting of the Soviet diplo-
mats in the Hague. On July 23, the Pravda ran poet Demyan Bedny’s
fable, “The Entente Fox and the Soviet Crane”, on its front page.
It commented on the situation in the Hague:

Glory and praise to Litvinov,

Who’s as smart as they come.

They're all out to trick him,

But he’s making things hum...

The Soviet crane’s a cautious kind,

Forthright and truthful ( why tell lies?).

To the sly fox it speaks its mind,

And seeks no intimate ties.

In case of mutual courtesy, however,

It wouldn’t say no to trade...

etc.

After Urquhart’s resolution was adopted, the Hague Conference
had in fact closed. Capitalist Europe had granted no credits. Soviet
Russia had recognised no debts. It refused to return factories to their
former owners. On the face of it, no progress. In fact, however, the
Hague Conference, like the one in Genoa, was a victory for Soviet
Russia and its diplomats. The capitalist world saw that it would never
retrieve nationalised property in Russia. It saw there was only one
mutually beneficial solution: peaceful coexistence with Socialist
Russia. The more sober-minded Western politicians recognised this.
The British weekly, Observer, wrote that Russia and the Western
powers could both wait, but that in the long run they would have to
remove the existing differences. Western insistence on abstract justice,
the paper said, would some day bow to the more important impera-
tive of resuming relations with Russia.

Prior to their departure from the Hague, Litvinov, Krasin and
Krestinsky sent a detailed report to the Council of People’s Commis-
sars. “The Russian delegation,” they wrote, “noted two different
stages in the negotiations. In the first, the Russian delegation supplied
information asked for by the Non-Russian Commission. Things pro-
ceeded quietly, in workmanlike fashion, without complications. In the
second, when the parties discussed mutual proposals and demands, the
distinctive interest of particular members of the Non-Russian Corn-

172

173

mission came to the surface. That was when pressure was applied,
with the obvious aim of wrecking the conference. It was clear that
some members of the Non-Russian Commission, those who, in Genoa,
had objected to the idea of a Hague Conference the strongest, who
had tried to prevent the conference from taking place in the interim
between Genoa and the Hague, who are the most interested in pro-
longing the financial and economic blockade of Russia, and who are
the main obstacle to Europe’s economic recovery, were eager to end
the conference as quickly as possible. They feared that if it continued,
the anti-Russian front would fall apart. And they succeeded in closing
the conference prematurely, before it accomplished its objectives. But
the Russian delegation is firmly convinced that in the near future
these objectives will be accomplished by other, no less, if not more,
suitable means for Soviet Russia.”

Further developments showed that the Soviet policy was correct.
Six weeks after the Hague Conference, Leslie Urquhart, author of the
resolution that would forbid dealing with the Bolsheviks, tried to
obtain a concession on the Lena and at the Kyshtim mines. The Coun-
cil of People’s Commissars turned down Urquhart’s overture which,
as Lenin pointed out, was economically unprofitable for Soviet
Russia. Concessions were granted to other firms. Economic relations
with the West got off to a start.

On July 25, 1922, the Soviet delegation left the Hague. It arrived
in the German capital on the same day. Litvinov decided to stop over
in Berlin and hold a press conference for foreign journalists.

The choice of Berlin for this purpose was shrewd. Before the Ra-
pallo Treaty was signed, Ksenia Alexandrovna, sister of the last Rus-
sian Emperor Nicholas II, started court proceedings against the Ger-
man government, stating that the building of the former tsarist em-
bassy in Unter den Linden, should be considered hers. She said,
among other things, that Nicholas I had purchased the building from
the Duchess of Courland back in 1837. The court, however, had been
dragging its feet on the issue. German statesmen, who had a stake in
establishing relations with Soviet Russia, were not inclined to meet
the demands of the deposed Tsar’s sister. After the signing of the Ra-
pallo Treaty her suit was rejected. The German monarchists and Rus-
sian White emigres raised a howl. That was why Litvinov wanted to
hold his press conference in Berlin, expressly on the premises of the
Soviet mission in the old embassy building, on sovereign Soviet ter-
ritory.

On July 25, representatives of the biggest German newspapers
and magazines, and foreign correspondents accredited in Berlin,
gathered at 7 Unter den Linden. As a sign of respect for the Germans,

174

Litvinov opened the press conference in German, then switched to
English, and replied to questions in both languages. He offered an
overall evaluation of the Hague Conference. Now, after the confer-
ence, he said, the collective agreement principle would give way to
the principle of individual agreements. From now on, he said, the
Soviet government would deal with other governments separately.
There was no other way. Litvinov did not deny that Russia was in
need of foreign credits. But the correspondents were welcome to
tell the public and all governments that it was impossible to say
when exactly the debts would be returned.

An account of the press conference was cabled to Moscow. On
July 27, 1922, lzvestia reported:

“Litvinov ended with the categorical statement that agreements
between Russia and Europe were possible only if the European
governments submitted their demands separately, because united
action would be necessarily based on the maximum Franco-Belgian
demands which Russia could not accept either today or in 50 years.”
Litvinov was right. But it took much less than 50 years for the
major capitalist countries to realise that their plans of restoring capit-
alism in Russia were doomed to failure. Their attempt to impose a
colonial regime collapsed. What Litvinov predicted in his note to the
Political Bureau soon came about. Eighteen months after the Hague
Conference, the British government recognised the Soviet Union and
resumed normal diplomatic relations. Italy did the same a week later,
and in October 1924, Soviet Russia was also recognised by France,
which had been the most hostile of all countries. A succession of
countries followed suit. Like the Genoa Conference, the one in Hague
contributed to the final destruction of capitalist delusions.

The Soviet diplomats were commended for their performance in
Genoa and the Hague: in August 1922, at the 12th All-Russia Confer-
ence of the Communist Party, and at the 4th session of the Central
Executive Committee on October 31, 1922, by Lenin, who stressed
that Soviet Russia’s foreign policy had secured “success in face of the
governments of all countries”.

Soon after the two conferences, personnel changes were initiated
in the People’s Commissariat, for Foreign Affairs. The diplomatic
service was consolidated. Genoa and the Hague had revealed the
capacity and range of the leading Soviet diplomats. The issue came up
at a sitting of the Council of People’s Commissars on November 14,
1922. Again, as on the day when Litvinov was made Deputy Com-
missar, Lenin was in the chair. The first item on the agenda was Litvi-
nov’s appointment as First Deputy of Chichcrin, and Karakhan’s as
Second Deputy (by that time Karakhan had returned from Warsaw).

175

Litvinov received one more appointment. He and Felix Dzerzhin-
sky were made members of the Central Concessions Committee. The
appointments were “individual”, because the commissariats of Dzer-
zhinksy and Litvinov were already represented on the committee.
Lenin had felt that the two should be personally included in that
important body, which was directly subordinate to the Chairman of
the Council of People’s Commissars.

While dealing with an avalanche of current affairs, Litvinov began
preparing for a new major assignment. Even before the Hague Confer-
ence, the Soviet government had called on a number of countries to
take part in an international disarmament conference in Moscow in
the autumn of 1922.

Litvinov in the Kiev Prison, 1903

Rakhil Dudovskaya-Rosenzweig, Litvinov’s liaison in 1905-1907

E* v

Memorial plaque in commemoration of Litvinov’s activity in Bulgaria in
K M 1905-1907

Resolution of the Varna branch of the Bulgarian Communist Party on unveil-
ing a memorial plaque on the building of the former Commercial Motel

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The house in Paris where Litvinov stayed in 1905

Litvinov’s letter to Lenin, London, 1913

Westminster Palace Hotel,

Ltndon, S W.

The passport Litvinov had in London in 1916-1918

Galley-proof of Litvinov’s preface in English to the translation of the first
Soviet Constitution, 1918

S' 1

■mm

IDENTITY BOOK No.SGG7.3

ssued IO

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Red Square in Moscow on the second anniversary celebrations of the Great
October Socialist Revolution. Lenin in the centre, Litvinov on the right

Maxim Litvinov stops over in Berlin on his way to Moscow from Genoa, 1922
Maxim Litvinov, Fyodor Rothstein, and Jan Berzins, Moscow, 1923

Litvinov in the late 1920s

mm!

Staff members of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs at the end
of the 1920s

Litvinov in Geneva, in the early 1930s

Litvinov at the Pass of Saint Gotthard, Switzerland, in the early 1930s

U.S. Senator Franck L. Fay, 1930

The Soviet delegation in Geneva, with Anatoly Lunacharsky and Maxim Lit-
vinov sitting in the centre

Litvinov addressing the League of Nations, Geneva, early 1930s

An invitation to a meeting honouring Litvinov, USA, November 1933

Ivan Divilkovsky, General Secretary of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign
Affairs, who accompanied Litvinov on a visit to the USA

Litvinov on the deck of the Berengaria en route to the United States, 1933
The Conte di Savoia, on which Litvinov returned from the United States, 1933

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Maxim Litvinov and Louis Barthou, 1934
Litvinov in Evian, France, 1934

The fare at the banquet in honour of Litvinov

Airman Mikhail Gromov in the United States after his flight across the North
Pole, 1937

Luncheon

■

Cap 25; 7u<eon 35

Clam Ci-owdcr Corsomrri, He I ex- -V iod

Celery JS Tomato Juice 25 Oli-« 25 Sliced Tor, aloes 35
fililrvC*

Filet Blue h»K Meunicro 75

Scrarrbod Eqqr Of Aprhcvy 'cos' with EaCcl 43

Braised Long Islerd Dueling. Oi**» end
Mushrooms B5

Off ih« (frit!

Double Rib Lnmb Chop 55 Sidoin Steel I .'5

Broccoli Drewr. fafer 30 Iro-P Stil«. aeens SC
O tr’ Pens 25 Pctoioei; He ied. Sceto er Rissole 25
C':lb ‘/Wins

"5RR Seed Bowl Frond. Mired Salad 25 :«nfc p=- pe'V.-
Sardines 50 Combination Salad *-•>

Head Lettuce or lertuc* erd Toir.aiC- French Draw rg «
‘Del SOW ere-' fj/werm

Fresh Cranberry F; ” lS,l ” d m Car To Jj -'' a =

With Cheese 30

Baled Apple 30 l « C '»m 30

Camembnrt. Rodjefed or S-ia G-',yere C
i c-W-f'J Wafers 35

‘fma. «#»-, C-oron for (-Xie), 2T,

Do coftVrmtob Co*feo or Cn-’p-d Uev.raqo 25
Sweet Mill or Buttermilk (Bottled) 20
./Treed

Whole Wheet. Raisin or Rye IS Tea Biscuits IS Toast 20

l let cf Blue Fish. Sure Mecnle-o

Scran bled eggs or. ArcScvy Ton.t with 3ncen

Braised Long h nd D jelling, OTves ana h/Lil.iOyral
Grilled Cj’r.b Chops

Potatooi. Rii-.elo f reih Slirg 9ear

aid Bolter or Tea Sisciaita

Hood l attorn. Tpojsnrd Hard Dressing
Fresh Cranbc'ry !"e

Tw-llrJ VVele-i

S'- •

Litvinov speaking on his arrival in Geneva, 1933
.Maxim Litvinov and Boris Stein

Maxim Litvinov and Yakov Surits, Geneva, 1934
Maxim Litvinov and F.duard Bcnes, Geneva, 1934 or 1935

Litvinov converses 'with French diplomats

Litvinov and Spanish Foreign Minister Alvarez del Vayo, 1937

Litvinov and his wife Ivy

Litvinov in his office at the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs .in the

Litvinov in Red Square, 1936

Litvinov at Byelorussky Railway Station, Moscow, 1935
The diary Litvinov kept during his flight to the United States, 1941

Maxim Litvinov in the United States, 1942
Facsimile of a fragment of Litvinov’s flight map, 1941

Litvinov in his office at the Soviet Embassy in Washington, 1942

Litvinov and his secretary Anastasia Petrova, en route from the United States

to Moscow

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Chapter 6

ON THE UPGRADE

The eight years from 1922, when Litvinov returned from the
Hague, until 1930, when he was appointed People’s Commissar for
Foreign Affairs, may appear tranquil in comparison with the preced-
ing and subsequent troubled and trying times.

On the face of it they were indeed tranquil-, the armed interven-
tion of the Entente powers was a thing of the past. So was the block-
ade and the Civil War, and hence also the various dangerous assign-
ments and intricate missions.

Time marched on. The Soviet Republic healed its wounds, end-
ed the dislocation, and embarked on peaceful construction. 1 his
imposed a titanic task on the Soviet diplomatic service. The break-
through in Genoa was followed by an all-out diplomatic effort to
win the recognition that was the due of the world’s first socialist
state. What the country needed most was a maximally long period
of peace.

There were two fairly distinct stages in Litvinov’s activity during
that period. In the first, which lasted from 1922 to 1927, Chicherin
and he built up and remodelled the diplomatic service. It had per-
formed brilliantly during the Civil War and the foreign intervention.
But all that time it had been in a state of flux.

Now it had to look farther ahead, pick new personnel, and im-
prove the style of the central machinery and the ambassadorial corps.
The staff had to learn diplomatic techniques, and make discipline its
second nature, for that alone could make a policy work.

Chicherin and Litvinov laboured hand in hand shaping the Com-
missariat’s structure to suit its tasks. They produced a new, rational
system at home and for the diplomatic service abroad. One of their
achievements was the system of training they devised for diplomatic
personnel.

It was hard to find a better man for all this than Litvinov, who
combined ideological firmness with a thorough knowledge of the out-
side world, backed up by a fluent command of foreign languages. He
toured Soviet political missions abroad, of which the Soviet mission

An inscription by Litvinov on the May 9, 1945 issue of Izvestia
Litvinov and his wife Ivy in New York, 1942

FloAnMcoHMe okto
0 6e30r0B0p0HH0H KQnMTy/1SU(HH
repMdHCKMX BoopyxceHHbix cmji

AKT O BOEHJIOH KA 1 III TYJUin II H

1. Mm, MHwciio.imtai hiii ween, jcSi-rnyn ot HMPHH TepMaHCKOro Bepxoimoiu KoMaHao-

12-01072

177

C nooe/iOHOciiWM 3aBepuieHnevi Be.mi,:on

S' +S A rt'tS J -ev ; -

«* ( \TTT.«yVrc er»»«. n.^r-rtp. irn «ntn *pn«T4*is»-f.-* rr.ii* r>-tt*re fl , rofi „

in Berlin was one. He visited it in the autumn of 1922, and did a lot to
rectify its style of work.

An episode occurred during his stay in Berlin which showed how
right Lenin was to commend Litvinov’s cool head. Moscow learned at
the time that Urquhart, whom the Soviet government refused to grant
a concession, was plotting mischief against Soviet Russia. On October
10, 1922, Lenin sent a coded telegram to Berlin: “Krasin and Chichc-
nn say we will lose all our capital in Britain (up to 50 million gold
roubles) owing to Urquhart’s displeasure. The House of Lords may
take action against us. What is your opinion? Take all requisite steps.
Keep us informed. Lenin.”

On October 12, Litvinov sent Chicherin a detailed letter, with a
copy for the Political Bureau: he did not think there was reason for
fear, because the British government would not make openly hostile
moves against Soviet Russia in the prevailing unfavourable situation
for it at home and abroad. “For this reason,” he wrote, “I think we
should take no special action.”

Litvinov’s judgement proved right.

His participation in shaping the diplomatic service was only part
of what he did in those years. The Soviet Union’s emergence in the
world arena began in 1924. Diplomatic relations were established with
all the major countries, except the United States of America. Chi-
cherin and Litvinov conducted or directed negotiations. They saw to
it that Soviet interests were not impinged upon, and that the USSR
obtained the maximum benefit in the prevailing political and eco-
nomic circumstances.

The second stage in Litvinov’s activity of that period began in
1927, when he invariably represented the Soviet Union at interna-
tional events as leader of its delegation.

In 1928, he in fact headed the People’s Commissariat for Foreign
Affairs owing to Chichcrin’s illness and departure to Germany for
treatment.

Such, in general outline, was the picture of Litvinov’s activity after
the Genoa and Hague conferences until 1930.

Now, let us take a closer look at developments during that period.
On June 12, 1922, Litvinov visited Estonia, Latvia, Poland, and
I' inland “to invite their plenipotentiary representatives to a con-
ference for joint discussion with representatives of Russia of a propor-
tional reduction of armed forces”. Lithuania had accepted the invita-
tion beforehand, and Romania had, in fact, turned it down.

Soviet Russia prepared the ground for the conference. It had re-
duced the Red Army to one-sixth of its strength when the Civil War

178

ended. Now, it numbered 800,000 men and officers, and the aim was
to secure a further proportionate reduction of the Red Army and the
armed forces of the neighbour countries.

The conference opened on December 2, 1922, at the Foreign Com-
missariat’s building in Kuznetsky Most. “It was a morose winter’s
day,” a participant recalled. “Candles were lit in the conference hall.
The delegations and their experts were seated round a long cloth-
covered table.”

The climate was one of unease. The Baltic countries had sent ex-
perienced diplomats, who had no intention of meeting the wishes of
Soviet Russia. Poland was represented by Prince Janusz Radziwill,
landowmer and close friend of Josef Pilsudski, and Finland by Foreign
Minister Carl Enckell. Like the Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian
representatives, they were closely connected with their countries’
agrarian and industiial circles.

Litvinov made the introductory statement. “The Russian govern-
ment,” he said, “is aware that in view of the present social and eco-
nomic system in most countries, based on the exploitation of man
by man and of nation by nation, it is impossible to completely elim-
inate armed international conflicts. Attempts to regulate interna-
tional relations by eliminating some of the old injustices, have only
created new, still more crying, injustices, and new possible sources of
war. The Russian government is convinced, however, that not only
complete but even partial disarmament would reduce the possibility
of armed clashes and, moreover, yield immediate tangible benefits
through the reduction of financial burdens. That is the purpose be-
hind the proposals of the Russian government. We believe that our
proposals arc concrete and practicable, and cannot be replaced by any
so-called moral disarmament, of which so much is being said at inter-
national conferences w'hen someone wants a pretext to evade disar-
mament.”

Litvinov set forth the concrete Soviet programme— mutual reduc-
tion of ground forces, with the Russian army being cut to one-quarter
of its strength within 18 months or two years, that is, to 200,000
men, and with a corresponding cut in the ground forces of the coun-
tries bordering on Russia in the West.

Litvinov rounded out this plan with the following ideas: that the
contracting countries limit their military budgets, that the border
zone be neutralised, and that irregular military units (the reference
was to remnants of Russian counter-revolutionary troops which had
found refuge in the Baltic states) be dissolved.

Ivan Maisky, who took part in the conference, wrote: “Litvinov
spoke convincingly and firmly. His speech made a strong impression.

179

But I noticed with concern that Prince Radziwill sneered when he
heard the offer of a 75 per cent reduction. And my concern turned
out to be justified.”

I.itvinov could guess what the other negotiators had up their sleeve.
That was why, he said, the conference should deal with disarmament
and avoid talk of moral disarmament. But there was no stopping the
Estonian delegate, who declared that “material disarmament should
be preceded and accompanied by political disarmament”. He was
following British and French orders. Radziwill spoke to the same ef-
fect, and so did all the other delegates.

This tactic was no novelty for Litvinov. O’Grady had employed it
in Copenhagen, as did all the time-hardened diplomats in Genoa and
the Hague. The co-negotiators had to be made to join the fray by
means of concrete proposals. And Litvinov came out with some on
December 5 when the tactics of the Western diplomats had become
quite clear.

On December 4, the Polish delegation submitted a moral disarma-
ment project as the basis for material disarmament. This meant that
the opposition intended to reduce matters to mere talk, and put off
arms reduction indefinitely.

Litvinov drew up his statement the night before. He had no time
or chance to have it approved by anyone. Lenin was at the Congress
of the Communist International. Chicherin was in Lausanne. Still
Litvinov was undismayed-, he had the directives of the Central Com-
mittee and the government, the main ideas had been thrashed out and
agreed upon, and he did not hesitate to assume full responsibility.

“The Russian government has always thought,” he said, “that in-
creasing armed forces or maintaining them at the present level is an
expression of that very distrust of which so much has been said here
by other delegations... In the opinion of the Russian government all
the interested countries could express their confidence by agreeing
to reduce armaments... The prime condition for moral disarmament is
material disarmament, because by giving priority to moral disarma-
ment we would confine ourselves to mere words and papers, while in
the second case we could prove our readiness by our deeds.”

Backstage, the Polish delegate called on his colleagues to reject the
Soviet proposals. He told his partners that Soviet Russia was preparing
an attack. Litvinov got wind of Radziwill’s intrigues. At one of the
sittings, he declared that as chairman of the Russian delegation and
one of the chiefs of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs he
considered it his duty to make a categorical statement: the Russian
government had no intention whatsoever to attack the territory of ‘its
close or far neighbours, or to resolve any disputes with them by force

180

of arms. This statement shall be put down in the minutes and proceed-
ings of the present sitting. And Litvinov added: “If you want my
signature to this pledge, you can have it.”

On December 5, Litvinov again expounded the Soviet position:
the danger of war is directly proportionate to the number of men and
guns, so that their reduction will be an immeasurably more depend-
able guarantee against war than signing peaceful resolutions.

Soviet Russia, Litvinov said, was farthest from the thought of
creating illusions and deceiving anyone.

The discussion went on and on. It was clearer with each passing day
that the Baltic diplomats were out to wreck the conference. Finally,
they said they could not cut their armies 75 per cent. A smaller reduc-
tion, they said, could perhaps be acceptable. Litvinov responded im-
mediately: Soviet Russia, he said, would accept a 25 per cent cut, and
suggested non-aggression agreements.

On December 11, however, the Polish, Finnish, Latvian, and Esto-
nian representatives issued a joint declaration saying mutual disarma-
ment and a proportional reduction of armaments was unacceptable.
Furthermore, they falsified the numerical strength of their armies.
Litvinov made one more attempt to secure action. With figures in
hand, he proved that a proportionate reduction of armed forces,
especially the modest reduction envisaged at the conference, would
not change the balance of strength in Russia’s favour; on the con-
trary, owing to its enormous territory and the length of its eastern and
south-eastern borders, the balance would tilt against Russia.

The Soviet delegation also made a few concessions. But this did not
help either. The other side was intent on torpedoing the negotiations.
Arms reduction was obfuscated by talk about moral disarmament.
The Soviet delegation made clear that since the Baltic delegates had
halted work in the commission of military experts, which had been
looking into practical disarmament, it considered this “a refusal to
accept the disarmament proposals of the Russian government, and
would let the public draw the due conclusions”.

Now the immediate task was to attract public attention to the
Soviet proposals. Litvinov called a press conference. He summed up
the results of the conference and said Russia wanted peace because
it was busy building socialism.

Though the conference had passed no decisions, it had been useful
for, as Litvinov noted, if the neighbouring peoples renounced the
prejudice about Soviet aggressiveness, if they believed the absolute
love of peace of the Soviet worker-peasant government which was
devoting all its energy to Russia’s economic revival, the conference
will have served its purpose.

181

The Western diplomats left Moscow uncertain of whether they had
won or lost. The answer was provided by some of the world’s major
newspapers. They noted that ever since their first call for peace in
October 1917, the Bolsheviks had held the initiative firmly.

The Foreign Commissariat became more cohesive after Genoa and
the Hague. Chicherin devoted most of his attention to the East. Lit-
vinov occupied himself with the West. But he also had his eye on the
Orient. The work styles of the two diplomats were different as before.
Chicherin worked round the clock— after hours in his flat in the
Foreign Commissariat building. When tired, he played the piano. Mo-
zart’s sweet music eased the stresses. Everybody had grown accustomed
to Chicherin’s nightly vigils. He got up around 11 a.m. and by lunch
managed a whole lot. After lunch he had a nap. Then he worked
again: promptly, vigorously, cleverly. Not all people could follow his
schedule. Sometimes funny incidents occurred. Sculptor Clare Sheri-
dan, for example, who visited Moscow soon after the Revolution,
wanted to portray the Russian leaders, and asked Chicherin when he
could sit for her. “Come at four in the morning. That is the best
time,” he said. The Englishwoman replied. “1 also think it is the best
time— for sleeping.”

Litvinov had a different schedule. He worked nights only in ex-
treme cases. After the Hague Conference he asked for a little bigger
flat— and was granted one of three tiny rooms. One for him and his
wife, one for their son and daughter, and the third a study.

In the mornings, punctually at one and the same time, he appeared
at the Foreign Commissariat. The watchmaker who looked after the
timepieces in the Commissariat building once said, if the old pocket-
watch he had inherited from his grandmother let him down, he would
set it by Litvinov.

The Collegium of the Foreign Commissariat, which dealt with the
most serious issues, usually gathered twice a week. Often, arguments
occurred. Rank was no object. A well-grounded opinion was what
mattered. The opinion of the chiefs of departments was treated with
due respect. If an important issue arose while the chief of the perti-
nent department was absent, Chicherin would always say they should
wait and hear what the department chief had to say.

Fundamental differences of opinion would arise. Whenever a pro-
posal that went against Litvinov’s grain was adopted, he mumbled for
the secretary to record his objections in the minutes. Thereupon, he
would expound his view in a letter to the Central Committee.

Sometimes, it was the other way round, with Chicherin asking the
secretary to put down his objections, and writing a letter to the Cen-
tral Committee. The Political Bureau would then make the final deci-

182

sion. Its decision, that of die governing body of Party and State, was
carried out to the letter. And often it was the opponent who was
assigned to carry it into effect.

Litvinov’s style of work, and his relationship with the personnel,
was invaribaly precise, orderly, punctual, and clear.

Yuri Kozlovsky, who had worked by Litvinov’s side for many
years, said, “Litvinov had a precise work schedule. lie did everything
promptly. In the mornings, he looked through the coded messages
and the mail. At the appointed hour he received colleagues and visi-
tors. He had his breakfast in time, and his dinner in time. lie used
to say anyone who could not manage his job within the working
hours, was a poor organiser. Once, Krestinsky, his first deputy, want-
ed to sec Litvinov. On coming to Litvinov’s door, however, he glanced
at his watch and turned back. It was five minutes past seven, and he
knew Litvinov was out, for the working day was over.

And here is the evidence of Yuri Kozlovsky’s namesake, yet an-
other prominent member of the Commissariat, Benedict Kozlovsky,
who had for many years been Soviet Consul-General in Shanghai and
had held other top diplomatic jobs. “Litvinov,” he said, “is a model
of good organisation. Never has he wasted anybody’s time. Never has
he made anyone wait. But neither does he let anyone waste his own
time. He receives people at the appointed hour, and never lets a visit
drag out. He asks the visitor’s pardon, looks at his watch, and says
others are waiting.”

Litvinov was always glad to help the younger members of the staff.
But he never reduced his advice to lecturing. He considered it more
useful for experience and knowledge to accumulate in the process of
work, and always encouraged young people. One day, he and a group
of colleagues were discussing the appointment of a certain young man.
One of them said the young man was a careerist. Litvinov retorted:
“Show me a young man who does not want to make a career.” This
settled it.

Litvinov could not bear sneaks and informers. lie re-educated them
in his own way. Once, a young man raised a number of groundless
charges in a letter against his department chief. His letter also con-
tained a few dubious recommendations. Litvinov called a staff meet-
ing, and spoke of the style that should prevail in the diplomatic
service. He let everybody have his say, then expounded his own ideas.
After the conference was over, in the presence of the young man, he
handed the letter to the department chief, saying he should look into
the recommendations it contained.

To be talkative, Litvinov held, was for a diplomat an unforgivable
failing. One day he learned that a high-ranking member of the staff,

183

a man who often attended collegium sittings, had talked too freely.
Litvinov decided to teach him a lesson. At a sitting, he said to him,
“I beg you to leave for a few minutes. I have to speak to the comrades
of a strictly confidential matter.”

Soon thereafter, Litvinov had him transferred to another job.

The failure of their armed intervention had a sobering effect on
the capitalist states. But each day held new surprises for the Soviet
Union. Here are just a few of the problems Litvinov dealt with in the
space of a few months in 1923:

1. The Norwegian government unilaterally terminated Spitzber-
gen’s economic ties with the Soviet Union. This could have a deleteri-
ous effect on the northern and north-western regions, which got their
coal from Spitzbergen. Litvinov launched an exchange of letters with
Mowinckel, Norway’s Foreign Minister, and settled the issue.

2. An impostor made his appearance in Mexico: a certain Baron
Weindhausen-Rosenbcrg had assumed the functions of Russian consul
in that far-away country, and refused to accept the fact that a Revolu-
tion had occurred in Russia six years before. Litvinov managed to
have the impostor driven out. Alexandra Kollontai was sent to Mexico
as Soviet envoy.

3. In his flight from the Crimea, counter-revolutionary General
Wrangel took along the funds of the Petrograd Credit Bank, including
not only private but also state deposits. In Kotor, Yugoslavia, he start-
ed a brisk trade in valuables. Litvinov set about recovering them.

4. A lot of Russians were stranded in Bulgaria. Deceived by counter-
revolutionary propaganda, some of them blackmailed, they were in a
sorry state, and had to be helped to return home. Litvinov found a
way. He addressed himself to a man known and revered all over the
world: Fridtjof Nansen. In his letter to Nansen, he wrote: “An under-
taking of tremendous humanitarian significance, the repatriation of
Russian citizens, started with your dedicated assistance, is foundering:
many thousands of Russians deceived by counter-revolutionary generals
have suffered incredible privations for a number a years, and are
thirsting to return home to a new, honest life. They are now reduced
... to further hardships and privations in a foreign land.”

5. The French government, too, was delaying the repatriation of
Russian citizens. To speed matters up, the Foreign Commissariat sent
a Red Cross mission to France. The mission reached Berlin, where the
French Embassy refused it entry visas to France. Litvinov cabled
Foreign Minister Poincare. Poincare began hedging. Parliament, he
maintained, had failed to provide credits for repatriation. He swore
love for the Russian people. Litvinov replied assurances of affection

184

were worthless if unseemly actions were causing “enormous disap-
pointment among people who were impatiently awaiting the arrival
of the Russian delegation and permission to return home”. Soon
thereafter the repatriation began.

6. One more thieving act by General Wrangel: he had seized and
taken out of Constantinople nine Soviet merchant steamers. The
Foreign Commissariat started a fight for those ships.

Petty concerns alternated with bigger ones. Anglo-Soviet relations
deteriorated abruptly in the spring of 1923. The deterioration began
when British trawlers began making free use of Russia’s northern wa-
ters. The Soviet authorities detained James Johnson, a British fishing
vessel. The Foreign Office was in tantrums. Litvinov handled the case
calmly. It was as though he, rather than the British, was endowed with
the typically English restraint. Hodgeson, the British agent in Moscow,
was making threatening noises. But the facts were against him. Soviet
territorial waters had been invaded. “The Russian government,” Lit-
vinov wrote to Hodgeson, “wants to handle the problem of territo-
rial waters in the peaceful spirit that guides it in all other foreign
affairs.”

London, however, continued to stoke up tension. Its pride was
hurl. It ordered a gunboat to make for Murmansk, threatening to
resort to force. Curzon sent an ultimatum. Ramsay MacDonald,
Labour Party' leader, cabled Moscow he and his party were alarmed
that a rift may occur before arbitration and negotiation arc used to
find a settlement. On May 11, 1923, Litvinov replied, “I want to
reassure you that though the Soviet government will not submit to
ultimatums and threats, it is always prepared to settle Russo-British
disputes in a peaceful spirit, as the decision to release the detained
trawlers has proved.”

On the same day, acting on instructions, Litvinov replied to Cur-
zon’s ultimatum. He wrote that the British government had evidently
acted on an essentially wrong impression about the state of the Rus-
sian Republics imparted by counter-revolutionary emigres. Again,
Litvinov offered to settle the conflict peacefully, “in the interests of
universal peace, of the economic rehabilitation of war-ravaged Europe,
and of the British as well as Soviet peoples”.

Soon, the conflict was settled.

To appreciate Litvinov’s self-possession, we might recall the condi-
tions in which Soviet diplomats functioned in those days: Vaclav
Vorovsky, once an Iskra agent and a close friend of Litvinov’s, was
killed in Lausanne.

On May 10, 1924, at the unveiling of Vorovsky ’s monument in
Moscow, Litvinov said, “A year ago, a typical representative of the

185

moribund, obscurantist and man-hating world, the reactionary Lord
Curzon, fired an ultimatum at the heart of the burgeoning new
world— the Soviet Republic. Two days later, the English lord’s worthy
pupil and servant, the whiteguard Konradi, a scion of Russian reac-
tion, fired at Comrade Vorovsky, a representative of the Soviet
republics.

“Both acts were the effect of the same causes and had the same
purpose. They show the dismay of the international bourgeoisie,
which was disgracefully defeated in its first intervention and blockade
of the Soviet republics. But these shots have also been a signal for
international fascist gangs to mount a fresh assault on the fortress of
the proletarian revolution. But the gangs failed to rally. The attempt
suffered dismal failure. The Soviet republics have squashed Lord
Curzon ’s aims with ease and dignity.

“The shots fired by Curzon and Konradi were like rearguard ac-
tions of the international bourgeoisie, which had ended its first inter-
vention in disgrace.”

The international situation called for vigilance. It also called for
flexibility and caution. Soviet diplomacy avoided being provoked,
and that took skill. Every time a foreigner was arrested, the outside
world responded with notes of protest. In some cases, the security
service was mistaken. On one occasion, Litvinov approached Dzer-
zhinsky, who was in charge of security.

“You’re interfering with our work,” Litvinov said. He said people
were sometimes arrested on no serious grounds, and the diplomatic
service had to make amends when notes of protest poured in.

After a pause, striding up and down his office, Dzerzhinsky said:

“All foreigners arc kept in one prison. I’ll have a pass made out to
you. Go, look at them. If you find we have done wrong, release
them.”

After Litvinov’s conversation with Dzerzhinsky, some of the fo-
reigners were released, and expelled from the Soviet Union.

In the evenings, at home, Litvinov was a different man: he left his
troubles in the office. The family led a spartan life. In winter, the
rooms were barely heated, as in England. Everyone had his duties.
But when Litvinov was home, the time was passed in merriment.
Litvinov’s sense of humour was inexhaustible. He put on comic per-
formances. “We liked those evenings of laughter,” his daughter Ta-
tiana recollected. “Father liked to train our memories his own, my
brother’s, and mine. He would speak some word and wanted us to
find another beginning with its last letter. lie liked poetry, especially
Pushkin, knew him by heart, and always found new overtones in
his lines.

186

“We often heard Father converse with Mother at breakfast, lo be
fair, it was a one-way street. Mother spoke, Father kept quiet. He
would move a plate or a cup, emitting some sound of approval or
negation.”

Months and years passed, abounding in important business.

Litvinov would soon be fifty. Was he pleased with himself? He had
no time to think of the past. But friends from the Institute of Party
History (now the Institute of Marxism-Leninism) kept dragging him
back to the olden days. They asked him to write his memoirs. They
begged him to find time for it, it was important for the edification of
posterity. They told him not to forget London, and Zurich, and Iskra.
But Litvinov was too busy. Nor did he care writing about himself. On
two or three occasions only was he prevailed upon to write up some
episode.

No, he was not averse to visiting Kiev and seeing the prison cell
where he had spent many months. Or visiting the Khntsy factory -
there must still be people there who knew him. Or going to Lenin-
grad for a week, wandering about the town and seeing familiar places.
Or perhaps going to Samara or Bczhitsa, where he received coded
letters from Krupskaya. Or should he visit the Caucasus and Tiflis?
What a pity Kamo was no more. They would have talked about the
past.

But he had work to do. And did not go anywhere.

January 2!, 1924, the day Lenin died, was a black day. For Litvi-
nov it was a personal tragedy. He had lost a close friend, a wise adviser
under whose guidance he had worked for the Party for dozens of
years.

Ivy Litvinova recollected:

“Maxim would not go to bed. All night he walked up and down the
room. In London, he had not told me of his Party affairs. I had no
idea about his corresponding with Lenin. He concealed his Party con-
nections most carefully. But that night was a night of remembrances-
not exactly remembrances, but brush strokes touching up Lenin’s
portrait. He spoke of his meetings with Lenin, and one meeting in
particular: in 1920. I don’t remember why I had not gone with him
to the Bolshoi. Probably 1 was out of sorts. He went without me.
They were showing The Barber of Seville. Litvinov was alone in one
of the boxes. He could not know that Lenin was looking for him on
some urgent matter. Maxim’s secretary told Lenin he was at the Bol-
shoi, and asked if he should be summoned. Lenin said no. Between
acts, Maxim found Lenin waiting for him outside his box. They dis-

187

cussed the urgent business, and Lenin left.”

In the mid-twenties, government after government began to recog-
nise the Soviet Union. But mere recognition was not enough. Soviet
policy was designed to normalise relations. The diplomatic service
was concluding agreements, treaties, and conventions with the aim of
securing the maximum advantage.

The negotiations with Italy were a good illustration of Litvinov’s
diplomatic methods. The Ducc, who in those early days liked to
parade what he called his socialist views, had said more than once that
Italy would recognise the Soviet Union. He said so again in the Cham-
ber of Deputies on November 30, 1923. But that was as far as he
went. He bargained for belter terms, then dragged his feet over dip-
lomatic recognition.

MacDonald’s Labour government was a jump ahead: it recognised
the Soviet Union dc jure on February 1, 1924.

Litvinov resorted to his favourite ploy. On February 6, he spoke
to an Izvestia correspondent, giving his opinion of the case. Imposing
terms on the Soviet Union, he said, was a futile occupation. It only
complicated matters, and delayed recognition. This applied to any
country that wished to establish diplomatic relations with the Soviet
Union. Referring to Italy, Litvinov said, “Mr. Mussolini, who had
obviously wanted to be the first to recognise the USSR, let Britain get
ahead because he lacked the courage of doing what MacDonald did
to renew diplomatic relations with the Soviet republics irrespective of
the final outcome of the commercial talks.”

The Italian economy was badly in need of relations with the Soviet
Union, and Moscow knew it. On the following day, Italy recognised
the Soviet Union de jure and Mussolini satisfied his ego: while Britain
appointed a charge d’affaires to represent it in Moscow, the Italian
government appointed an ambassador.

Why did Britain appoint a charge d’affaires? Was it a trick? In any
case, the thing had to be clarified. And again Litvinov spoke to an
Izvestia correspondent. He said he wanted the public to know that
Moscow was cognizant of the refinements of diplomacy, and would
not let itself be led up the garden path. “I should like to settle a mis-
understanding connected with the British note of recognition,”
Litvinov said. “The mention of the temporary appointment of char-
ges d’affaires instead of ambassadors does not mean, according
to information we have from London, that the British government
intends to establish an intermediate form of representation. Ac-
cording to international custom, preliminary approval of nomina-
tions is required before ambassadors are appointed, and charges
d’affaires are appointed in the meantime... Future historians will

188

have to decide who was first to recognise us, Britain or Italy. For
us, Italy’s recognition will be valuable even if it comes a few days
later.”

What confidence in his cause! What subtle irony in his statements!
But Litvinov could also be merciless when required. He could act
with cosmic speed, like a boxer in the ring, knocking out his adver-
sary, giving him no time to regain his senses. This he showed during
the incident at the Soviet Trade Mission in Berlin.

The bourgeois world could not reconcile itself to the Rapallo
Treaty. Germany was continuously urged to harass the Soviet Union.
On May 3, 1924, the Berlin police invaded the premises of the Soviet
Trade Mission in Lindenstrasse. They said they were looking for an
escaped criminal. They searched the premises, broke furniture, and ...
arrested a few members of the Mission’s staff. The incident was like
a rehearsal of what became commonplace in the Third Reich a mere
nine years later.

This could be an excuse for breaking off relations with the Soviet
Union. Immediate action was called for, and the Foreign Commissa-
riat was instructed to take it. It had to be firm and swift, because the
German government, and Foreign Minister Gustav Stresemann in
particular, were evasive and refused to acknowledge blame.

The Foreign Commissariat became a command centre, sending
instructions and receiving requisite information from Berlin and other
places. The diplomatic documents of those days were like wartime
battle reports. Indeed, the whole thing was like a battle to show the
Soviet Union would leave no insult or injury unpunished.

Events developed swiftly. The Soviet Union applied economic sanc-
tions. Sale of corn to Germany was halted on May 5. Soviet ships
received orders not to enter German ports. A shipment of eggs from
the Ukraine to Berlin was readdressed to London. So were other food
shipments.

The opening of branches of the Soviet Rubber Agency in Germany
on May 3, was cancelled. The Soviet staff, who had already arrived in
Berlin, were recalled. Soviet trade missions in Berlin, Leipzig and
Hamburg, and branches of Soviet economic agencies in Germany,
were closed down. A purchasing mission that arrived in Berlin on
May 3 to buy medical supplies, received instructions to buy nothing,
and deal with other countries. All trading with German firms was
halted. Orders worth 8,140,000 dollars, a large sum in those times,
were annulled. And this finishing touch: the Soviet Union refused to
take part in the I.eipzig bristles auction.

A commotion broke out in Berlin, Flamburg, Leipzig, Frankfurt-
on-Main, and other large German cities. The papers put out extras,

189

reporting the disastrous consequences of the Soviet moves for the
German economy.

Litvinov received hourly round-ups of what the German press was
saying. He read and emitted his sacramental grunts. He and Chicherin
discussed further steps, and called up the Central Committee, report-
ing results. When the culmination was reached, Litvinov summoned an
Izvestia correspondent. “The sudden and senseless attack of the Berlin
police on our Trade Mission,” he said, “was not only a formal breach
of extraterritoriality and an insult to the Soviet government, but also
an action which deprived our Trade Mission of requisite conditions
to work normally. The extraterritoriality of our Trade Mission flows
from the Soviet-German agreement of 1921, which the Rapallo Treaty
has not repealed.”

Berlin was making incomprehensible noises about the behaviour
of the police. Well, he would speak his mind about that, too. He
knew the ways of the Berlin police. He had had a taste of them
once. Here Litvinov launched a devastating attack on the German
authorities:

“The explanation of the German Foreign Ministry is farcical and
cannot be taken seriously. They say everything is simple and clear.
Wiirttemberg policemen were accompanying a dangerous criminal
through Berlin. Late for the train, thirsting for refreshments, they
found no beer hall or restaurant in the adjoining streets, and let the
captive lead them. He took them a few miles to the Trade Mission
in search of a mug of beer. The Wiirttemberg policemen had evidently
never seen a beer hall before, and mistook the imposing building of
the Soviet 1 radc Mission for one. They did not see the signboard on
the door, and happily followed the captive’s invitation to enter the
house in search of beer. There, the captive disappeared, while force
was applied to the policemen themselves. A malicious and untrue ex-
planation if there ever was one.”

This was taking the bull by the horns. The Rapallo Treaty had
been signed only two years before. It was rightly described as a major
victory for Soviet foreign policy. Did the incident mean that the
winds were turning? This troubled people in the Soviet Union and
in Germany. The public wanted to know. Litvinov provided the
answer: “The common economic and political interests that were
behind the Rapallo Treaty will for a long time retain their validity.

I do not believe the German government was deliberately seeking to
change the relations that prevail between the Soviet republics and
Germany.”

A few days later, German ambassador Count Brockdorff-Rantz.au
asked to be received. Chicherin and Litvinov demanded that the Ger-

190

man government apologise, that the culprits be punished, and the
damage made good.

The Count said his goodbyes and left. Three days later he came
again. Litvinov repeated the demands. Finally, it sank in in Berlin
that the Soviet government meant business. A protocol settling the
incident was signed on July 29, 1924. The German government ex-
pressed its regrets, the man who had been in charge of the police
action was removed from office, and all the other culprits were pun-
ished. Point 3 of the protocol read: “The German Government states
that it is ready to pay for the damage inflicted by German officials
in the building of the Trade Mission.”

This was the first time a major power had apologised to the Soviet
Union. The incident was settled. The viability of the Rapallo Treaty
was reaffirmed. The Soviet government’s prestige increased in its own
country and in the rest of the world.

The bourgeois press noted the proper and polite handling of the
case by the Soviet diplomatic service, its restraint and sense of dig-
nity.

Was Litvinov himself pleased with the result? He was a quiet man
who never expressed delight or made hasty judgements. lie had a
knack of waiting and looking into the future. That was why he began
to scrutinise what was going on in Germany.

The fact that Chicherin devoted most of his time to the countries
of the East, created the opinion that Litvinov did not handle any
Eastern affairs. As always since pagan times, an often repeated con-
jecture won followers. To this day, some Western historians think
Litvinov had no access to Eastern affairs. Even later, when he was
People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, he was thought to be cooler
towards the Orient, while Karakhar., and later Stomoniakov, dealt
with the East.

Did Litvinov really underestimate the East? There is incontrover-
tible proof that Litvinov showed an interest in the Eastern countries
already in the early days of his diplomatic activity, and that he had
a concept of his own. It was expounded in the letter to the Polit-
bureau on the eve of the Genoa Conference in early February 1922.
That letter said: “The present Eastern governments do not aspire to
national liberation; they are quite ready to sell themselves, to sell the
interests of their countries, and doubly so to sell us. Coolness towards
us of the ruling spheres will not hinder but, on the contrary, help us
support the democratic movement there to the extent that such a
movement exists.”

Those last few words are the key to Litvinov’s point of view at

191

that time. There had been Eastern countries then, and Turkey is
evidence of this, whose government aspired to national liberation.
But most Eastern countries were then colonies and semi-colonics, and
were wholly or partly dependent on the colonial powers. Even such
large countries as China and India had practically no working class—
the main bearer of the revolutionary outlook. The Eastern countries
rightly considered the Soviet Union their champion against colonial
oppression. This was a good basis for having relations with them. And,
beyond question, Soviet diplomacy endeavoured to arrange such rela-
tions. Litvinov spent much time studying Soviet relations with Afgha-
nistan, China, Persia, and Turkey— especially when, on October 18,
1924, the second session of the Central Executive Committee heard
Chicherin’s report and approved the activity of the People’s Commis-
sariat for Foreign Affairs “aimed at strengthening peace and conso-
lidating the international situation of the Soviet Union, notably secur-
ing normal relations with countries of East and West.”

S. I. Aralov wrote in his memoirs:

“In the Foreign Commissariat Chicherin and Karakhan handled
Eastern affairs, while Litvinov handled the West. The East was closer
to Lev Karakhan’s heart, for he was from the Orient. Chicherin, mean-
while, who developed Lenin’s ideas about the East far more sharply
than others, settled all questions only after seeking Litvinov’s advice.
Litvinov had a splendid grasp of all possible political situations. lie
always reached down to their essence.”

Tics with the Eastern countries became more diverse. In 1926, the
Amir of Afghanistan, 34-year-old Amanullah Khan, who had estab-
lished diplomatic relations with Soviet Russia back in 1919, came on
a visit to Moscow. He was put up in a house across the river from the
Kremlin, and accorded every courtesy. A big Kremlin reception was
given in his honour. Since the Afghan ruler was fond of horses, fine
Arab horses were brought to Moscow. The embankment was under
water owing to a flood. So the gate to the guest house was tarred to
make it waterproof. And people used the backway. That is where the
horses were brought for the Amir to see. He was a connoisseur, in-
spected the animals carefully, expressed his admiration, and picked
out a few splendid specimens.

The talks with Amanullah Khan concerned a further extension of
political and economic ties. Litvinov took part in them. The friendly
relations established in 1919 and entrenched by a treaty concluded
between the Russian Federation and Afghanistan on February 28,
1921, became still closer.

Litvinov had negotiated with Eastern diplomats on other occa-
sions as well. When Georgy Chicherin left the country for a six-

192

months’ cure abroad, Litvinov deputised for him.

There was a dramatic train of events in the Far East just then.
After a conflict erupted on the Chinese Eastern Railway in January
1926, there was a series of anti-Soviet actions. On April 6, 1927,
police and soldiers broke into the Soviet Mission’s building in Peking,
smashed up the furniture, and arrested some of the staff. In Shan-
ghai, too, Soviet diplomats defended themselves with pistols against
a band of attackers.

The attacks on the Soviet missions were organised by reactionary
British quarters. A British Embassy official was just then negotiating
with the Canton government, which was demanding that British
troops withdraw from China. The negotiations collapsed. Britain fell
back on fabricated “papers” to launch a malicious anti-Soviet cam-
paign, saying the breakdown of the Sino-British talks had been en-
gineered by “Soviet agents”.

Litvinov had his hands full, and missed Chicherin very much. That
was probably why he referred more often than usual to the Party’s
Central Committee, and submitted recommendations to the govern-
ment. In his letters to the Council of People's Commissars he never
used such expressions as “we most strongly beg” or “the Foreign
Commissariat insists”. He preferred, “We request” or “the Foreign
Commissariat recommends”. Once approved, Litvinov’s recommenda-
tions were at once carried into effect.

On February 19, 1927, twenty -nine members of the Central Exe-
cutive Committee asked for an explanation concerning the malicious
attacks on the Soviet Union by some members of the British govern-
ment. On Fcburary 21, Litvinov spoke on this subject at a CEC ses-
sion. “A new anti-Soviet campaign has broken out in Britain today,”
he said, “but it dates back to the days when we had no diplomatic
relations. In fact, it has never ceased since those days, quieting down
for a while, then erupting again with added force at times when
Britain experiences difficulties at home or abroad.”

Litvinov identified those who had inspired and organised the new
anti-Soviet campaign. They were the same enemies who had cracked
the code he had used in Copenhagen in 1920— first of all, the Rus-
sian White emigres, monarchists, and former tsarist dignitaries en-
trenched in London, where they took advantage of their old connec-
tions and the patronage of British officialdom, even some members of
the British cabinet, and, second, the small but wealthy group of
so-called creditors, that is, those industrialists whose property in
Russia had been nationalised, and those speculators who had bought
stocks and shares from former Russian industrialists, with the oil
magnates at their head.

13-01072

193

“These people,” Litvinov said, “still think childishly that they can
intimidate the 150-million population of the Soviet Union, and
impose their terms.”

The Soviet Union, Litvinov went on to say, had never concealed
its sympathy for the Chinese people in their fight for independence.
This, he added, should not hinder normal relations with Britain.

“Acting on the will for peace of the Soviet people, and similarly of
the mass of the people in Britain,” Litvinov added, “the Soviet
Government will continue its policy of peace, which rules out any and
all aggressiveness towards other countries.”

It was a hot spring in 1927. The Chinese warlords, goaded by the
British, continued their attacks, searches, plunder, and manhandling
of Soviet citizens. The tension in London reached its apex on May 12,
when the police raided ARCOS, the Anglo-Russian Cooperative
Society, founded in 1920 for trading purposes, at 49 Moorgatc Road.
It was the same old scenario: a search, abusive behaviour, and then to
top it, rupture of diplomatic relations. On June 7, word was received
from Warsaw of the murder of Pyotr Voikov, the Soviet envoy.

Meetings rolled across the country, speakers stigmatising the killer
and his patrons. Excitement also reigned at the Foreign Commissariat.
Its Komsomols gathered for a meeting, while their leaders went to
Litvinov for advice. An old Party' member, he would know what they
should do.

He heard their excited questions, and wondered what he would
say to them. Vorovsky had been killed a short time before, and now
Pyotr Voikov. Who would be next? He said:

“You must never forget that you are diplomats. But neither must
you ever forget that you are also Komsomols.”

The Komsomols took a few red banners and marched in a proces-
sion, singing revolutionary songs. Outside the Polish Embassy they
stopped, and stood silently, their red banners waving in the breeze.

The Party's Central Committee and Central Control Commission
called a joint plenum on July 29, 1927, to discuss the international
situation. “Current international affairs,” its resolution said, “are
marked first of all by the exceedingly strained relations between im-
perialist Britain and the proletarian Soviet Union, on the one hand,
and imperialism’s armed intervention in China, on the other. The
threat of a counter-revolutionary war against the USSR is now the
biggest problem of all. The contradictions between the USSR and the
capitalist countries surrounding it arc growing sharper, though this
does not rule out some single improvement of relations here or there.”
The imperialist efforts to build a united anti-Soviet front were

194

countered by Soviet peace moves. The 4th session of the Preparatory
Commission for the Disarmament Conference was about to open in
Geneva. Litvinov was sent there as leader of the Soviet delegation.

The Preparatory Commission had been set up at the end of 1925,
but the USSR refused to attend the previous three sessions held in
Switzerland because that country had failed to react to the killing
of Vorovsky. Now due apologies had been tendered, and the Soviet
government felt free to send a delegation. Litvinov, its head, was ac-
companied by its member, Lunacharsky.

The situation in Geneva was a complicated one. It was the scat of
the League of Nations. Intrigues were plotted against the USSR.

On the eve of his departure, Litvinov invited correspondents to
his office, and set forth the Soviet position: the Soviet delegation
would go to Geneva with its own programme. It would consider those
who worked in the same direction as allies. One of its objectives was
to call the attention of the commission to the need for establishing
truly effective guarantees of peace. It would combat attempts at
distracting the delegates with third-ranking issues and fruitless resolu-
tions, or attempts at making the commission an instrument of one
state or a group of states.

On November 23, 1927, the Soviet delegation left for Geneva.
The world press reacted with interest. The French Le Temps des-
cribed Litvinov’s statement as “astoundingly daring”. The Deutsche
Allgemeine Zeitung commented that some British and French news-
papers were displeased with the line-up of the Soviet delegation; they
feared two things: a Soviet disarmament programme that neither
Britain nor France could countenance, and an attempt at renewing
Soviet-British relations. The Kreuzzeitung, mouthpiece of the German
nationalists, wrote that a new player was stepping on to the disarma-
ment stage in the person of the USSR, whom all were awaiting with
tension, and the foes of disarmament with certain misgivings.

Litvinov’s person was accorded considerable space in the papers.
They recalled his years in Britain, his negotiations with the English
and the Allies in Copenhagen, his mission in Sweden, and the part he
played in Genoa, in the Hague, and at the Moscow Disarmament Con-
ference. They wondered what tactics he would adopt in Geneva.
Der Tag, a German daily, reported that Litvinov was crossing the plans
of those who had called the session by demanding a general debate
on questions of disarmament. And, it amplified, he would probably
succeed after some preliminary diplomatic jockeying. Chamberlain
would hardly be able to avoid contacts with Litvinov. Interesting dip-
lomatic talks were in the offing, the paper commented, if Litvinov’s
tactics succeeded. And, it added, there was really no stopping Litvinov.

195

The journey to Switzerland was unsafe. The so-called Freiburg
group of counter-revolutionary emigres threatened to kill Litvinov
and Lunacharsky if they set foot in Geneva. But there was no
mishap. True, the railway car in which the Soviet diplomats travelled
was literally infested with plainclothesmen. The time of the delega-
tion’s arrival was kept secret. Still, a crowd of people gathered at the
railway station as the train pulled in. With flowers.

Ihe press reported what it described as an unpleasant surprise for
Litvinov: emigre Kubaloff had started an anti-Soviet paper in Geneva,
timing its first issue to coincide with Litvinov’s arrival.

On the first night, Litvinov and Lunacharsky vanished, saying noth-
ing to anyone. Each went his own way. Without a guard, for none had
come with them. Besides, if there had been a guard, the two would
still have slipped away. The others were worried that night, for no-
body knew where the two had gone.

They went to the places they had frequented in years gone by.
Litvinov approached the house where he had lived. He wanted to go
inside, but it was late. So he stalked off to the house where the Iskra
Primshop had been, lime had spared it. Litvinov was magnetised,
and would not leave— until he heard footsteps, and turned round.

He saw Lunacharsky.

“I was sure you’d come,” Litvinov said quietly.

‘‘And I was sure I’d meet you here.”

They stood beside the old house for some time. Then they walked
off along the Rhone embankment towards the hills. In the distance
were the glaciers of the Valais Alps. Lunacharsky recalled a few lines
of poetry:

“I see the mountain peaks again... ”

Then he recited Faustus in German.

Litvinov took him by the arm:

“It’s time we went home.”

On November 30, the first sitting of the commission gathered for
the initial battle between Litvinov and his practised adversaries.

In the Pravda, Lunacharsky produced an adroit sketch of the main
personalities at the Geneva forum:

Take Chairman Loudon, the Dutch minister in Paris, a handsome
elderly person of typically Anglo-Saxon appearance, leaning with
some impatience on his chairman’s hammer. And beside him the cha-
racteristic head and lean face of secretary Madariaga, the spitting
image of the ascetic friars portrayed by Francisco de Zurbaran, the
Spanish artist.”

A curious point: Madariaga, with whom Litvinov broke lances

196

more than once in Geneva, had been the latter’s pupil. Years ago,
in London, Litvinov had taught him Russian.

But back to Lunacharsky’s sketch:

“Here’s a visage of an entirely different order: the smiling coun-
tenance of Albert Thomas with its typically Russian traits. And one
more Frenchman, one more Socialist, of approximately the same co-
louring and stature— Joseph Paul-Boncour, the League of Nation’s
number one tenor, sitting at the table with the face of an actor be-
neath the thick, bluishly-curly grey head of hair.

“And there’s the little, nondescript Benes, a fine lawyer, the
Greek who introduced at the League of Nations the refined knavery
of the Athenian sophists.

“One of the most striking figures at the conference: a fairly cor-
pulent old man whose every feature ... is strongly reminiscent of the
gentlemen of Dickensian times. He is a deadly enemy of Soviet Russia,
Mr. Ronald John McNeill, now Lord Cushendun, leader of the British
delegation.”

Certainly, the audience waited with bated breath for the head of
the Soviet delegation to speak.

Litvinov was deeply conscious of what he had to accomplish. It
was essential for the nations of the world to learn of the Soviet decla-
ration, which covered a lot of ground concerning disarmament. Hund-
reds of newspaper correspondents had come, and it would be a good
thing if they reported the concrete Soviet peace proposals.

A serious problem arose at the very outset. By the rules of pro-
cedure, a delegation that participated in a session for the first time, must
speak first. But Litvinov learned that Chairman Loudon had given way
to pressure from Lord Cushendun and his supporters, and would deny
him the floor. He would set the ball rolling at once with a discussion
of last year’s draft convention submitted by the same Lord Cushendun.

Could Litvinov count on anyone’s support? Possibly the German
delegate’s. The Rapallo spirit was there, after all. And Litvinov went
to see Count von Bernstorff. They spoke eye to eye for an hour, and
the German finally promised he would move for the Soviet represen-
tative to be given the floor. At the last moment, however, he went
back on his word. Opening the sitting, Loudon declared that Count
von Bernstorff had suggested they begin the second reading of the old
disarmament convention without further delay.

The Soviet declaration, it seemed, would not reach the ears of the
public. That would not do, and Litvinov acted. He asked Loudon why
he was going against the accepted procedure. For hadn’t he, Litvi-
nov, whose country was represented at the conference for the first
time, the right to speak?

197

Loudon said once more that Count von Bernstorff had proposed
that they begin by reading the convention. Litvinov looked the
Count straight in the face, and asked:

“Did you propose that?”

The Count, a little confused, mumbled that he had made no such
proposal.

“In that case,” Litvinov said, “I have the floor.”

He walked to the rostrum.

Loudon hesitated, was about to object, but in the end murmured
that Maxim Litvinov, head of the Soviet delegation, would speak.

Lunacharsky and the rest of the Soviet delegation watched the pro-
ceedings with worried mien. Yet Litvinov was there, behind the rost-
rum, and had begun reading the Soviet declaration.

“Loudon’s trick had failed,” Pravda wrote on December 1, 1927,
“thanks to Litvinov’s energetic action.” The declaration is stirringly
relevant now as well, at the end of the 20th century.

“The Government of the USSR believes,” Litvinov read, “there are
no grounds to expect that the reasons which give rise to armed conflicts
can be eliminated in the conditions of the capitalist system. Militar-
ism and naval arming arc, in substance, a natural consequence of
capitalism. And their growth only aggravates the contradictions and
gigantically accelerates the potentially hidden conflicts, inevitably
precipitating armed collisions.”

Litvinov heaped incisive criticism on the many years of talk about
disarmament. The Soviet government was aware, he said, that
the nations wanted peace. That was precisely why it had accept-
ed the invitation to take part in the Preparatory Commission. By
doing so, it was demonstrating its desire to live in peace with all
nations, and wanted to determine the true intentions of the other
countries.

Litvinov continued:

“In our time the threat of new wars breaking out is no longer
hypothetical. We are not the only ones who think so. The same fears
were recently expressed by many authoritative statesmen in the
capitalist countries. The breath of impending war is felt everywhere.
If war is to be averted, we must all act.”

Those words would circle the Earth. There was applause. There
were startled cries. Now no one would be able to hush up the Soviet
peace declaration. On December 2, Pravda would report: “Litvinov’s
speech was heard with extraordinary attention... It is commonly be-
lieved that Litvinov’s speech at the very beginning of the conference
was a tactical Soviet victory.”

The Western delegations had no choice but to discuss the Soviet

198

declaration. Lord Cushendun took the floor. His country, he said, had
already disarmed. There was laughter from the Soviet delegation.
Other delegates, too, were unable to hide their smiles.

Lord Cushendun did his utmost to block any discussion of the
Soviet declaration. After some backstage manoeuvring, it was decided
to discuss the date of the next session. Litvinov spoke several times,
expanding on points of the Soviet declaration. He suggested calling
the next session on January 10, 1928. And backstage whispering
began all over again. Lord Cushendun admitted that Litvinov was in
his rights to make the proposal, and said he was even prepared to
second him. Thereupon he spoke against haste. And the discussion
continued. The 5th session of the Preparatory Commission was fin-
ally scheduled on March 15. Litvinov said at that rate the current
generation would never see the beginning of disarmament. But, he
added, he would certainly come on March 15.

On December 5, 1927, Litvinov’s railway car pulled out of Geneva.
The press comments were nothing less than lively. The Japan Times
wrote vexedly that the whole world had responded to Litvinov’s
declaration, which, it added, made the biggest impression in such
countries as, say, India. The French papers noted reluctantly that
Litvinov’s proposals had not been rejected, their discussion was
merely postponed.

Meanwhile, the train raced for Moscow. The 15 th Congress of the
Communist Party had already opened, and Litvinov was expected to
address it about the outcome of the Geneva forum.

He was given the floor on December 14. At the morning session,
the congress discussed the report of the Chairman of the Council of
People’s Commissars on the first five-year plan. Litvinov spoke at the
end of the sitting. In his emotional address, he said, “Comrades,
thanks to a fortunate twist of fate I am happy to be making my first
communication here about the work of the Soviet delegation at the
Preparatory Disarmament Commission.”

Litvinov set forth the history of the disarmament problem, spoke
of the attitude of various countries, and of the backstage currents. His
communication, which abounded in effervescent humour and biting
sarcasm, was punctuated by laughter and applause.

“We know perfectly well,” he said, among other things, “that in
place of universal disarmament certain quarters would like nothing
better than for the world’s only Soviet state to destroy all its arms,
so that they could then make short work of it. But they won’t have it
their way. We have always said, and now say, that we are ready to
disarm provided the other countries do the same. And if the capitalist
states are not sure we mean it, there is a good way for them to test

199

our sincerity, that is, join our programme. If they fail to do so, they
will show the world that the only country that can propose com-
plete disarmament and an end to wars is the Soviet Union.”

Litvinov did not leave Moscow until March 1928. He still had his
home on the Moskva embankment opposite the Kremlin. But a new
house for Foreign Commissariat staff was already going up in the
region of Krasniye Vorota, and Litvinov intended to move there. The
building on the embankment would be turned over to one of the
foreign embassies.

Impatiently, Litvinov waited. The children were growing up. They
were already attending school. The place on the embankment was not
very convenient. Diplomatic receptions occurred there frequently.
1 his interfered with normal living, lhe endless coming and going of
foreign and Soviet diplomats, and the general hotel atmosphere dis-
tracted the children from their school work. Once, at a reception,
Litvinov’s son scrambled between the guests’ legs from under the
table, and said blandly, “Don’t be scared, it’s me, Misha.”

Ten-year-old Misha and his classmate had found a hiding place
under the table long before the reception began, and sat there quietly
for several hours in order to pop up before the astonished guests.

“Have you done your homework?” Litvinov asked his favourite
question.

“Yes.”

“Then, off to bed.”

And the diplomatic reception continued.

As a rule, Litvinov spent his evenings with the family. He liked
going to the pictures, to concerts, and exhibitions. A friendship sprang
up with actors of the Moscow Art Theatre. After a performance,
Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko, the stage director, would sometimes
ask Litvinov what he thought of it. Litvinov cither refused to com-
ment, or said he personally liked the play. lie was afraid to impose
his opinion.

The winter of 1928 passed quickly, full of cares. The beginning of
the industrialisation drive created additional problems. People had
come from abroad to help out. They had jobs at building projects,
and were also modernising going concerns and factories. Foreign
tourists arrived, too. The Foreign Commissariat suggested that special
shops for foreigners should be set up. Soon, such shops-the Torgsin
chain— appeared. This was a new source of foreign currency.

The 6th session of the Preparatory Disarmament Commission was
to open on March 15. Presumably, the Soviet delegation would stay

200

in Geneva longer than the first time. A larger group of experts came
along. Boris Stein, who had acquitted himself splendidly in Genoa
and the Hague, was appointed counsellor, and Langovoy, a former
tsarist army officer, knowledgeable and refined, was military adviser.
Vladimir Yegoryev, one of the most experienced Foreign Commis-
sariat officials, came along as the delegation’s legal adviser, and
another Yegoryev, his namesake, as naval expert. The technical staff
was of modest size-two stenographers, a typist, a secretary, and a
cipher clerk. Konstantin Umansky, a TASS correspondent, accom-
panied the delegation. Litvinov had a high opinion of him not only for
his journalistic assets, but also his diplomatic skills. After a while,
indeed, Umansky was appointed chief of the Foreign Commissariat’s
Press Department.

As usual, the delegation stopped at a modest hotel. Its members
and the technical staff had a room each. They ate together in the
hotel dining-room. The menu was the same for all— from Litvinov
down to the technical secretary.

The situation in Switzerland was as strained as before. Anything
was liable to happen. Litvinov found a way out: he made arrange-
ments for his Swiss friends to guard the Soviet delegation round the
clock. Besides, they obtained a motorcar for his use.

In their leisure hours, everybody gathered in Litvinov’s room, that
is, if he was not busy preparing for the next sitting. There was usually
general merriment, punctuated by political or literary disputes, lhe
first Soviet novels saw the light of day in the mid-twenties, such as
Fyodor Gladkov’s Cement , Dmitry Furmanov’s Mutiny and Chapayev,
and Anna Karavayeva’s Timber Mill. Mikhail Bulgakov’s writings had
begun to appear. All this was arousing keen interest.

On Saturdays, in keeping with the local weekend tradition, the
Soviet colony went on picnics. Invariably accompanied by their Swiss
friends, they returned at dusk on Sundays and spent the rest of the
evening discussing current fiction in the tiny drawing-room.

Even before the Soviet delegation left for Geneva, Litvinov had, on
the government’s instructions, sent the Secretary-General of the
League of Nations a draft convention on immediate, complete, and
universal disarmament. It was based on the fundamental principles
that had been submitted by the Soviet delegation at the previous ses-
sion of the Preparatory Commission in November 1927.

On March 19, Litvinov spoke at the forum for the first time. In the
intervening period, he said, the Soviet delegation had received hund-
reds of letters from all over the world, backing the idea of disarma-
ment. He added that an address he had received upon coming to C.c-

201

ncva, was signed by 124 international organisations which backed the
Soviet project. Now, he added, it was high time to go from words to
deeds. Since its inauguration, the League of Nations had already held
120 sessions on disarmament, and submitted 111 resolutions for
general discussion. Yet matters hadn’t moved an inch. If the idle talk
continued, the idea of disarmament would be discredited.

“The Soviet government means business,” Litvinov said. “It is
building an immense country along entirely new lines ... but could
never accomplish that job if it did not treat the problem of peace in
a most serious, purposeful, and sincere manner. Maintaining peace is,
indeed, the cornerstone of all its policies.”

Litvinov knew, of course, that he could not count on any of the
delegations to support him. Lord Cushendun was completely in
charge, and would not allow the Soviet plan to pass. The delegate of
the reactionary Polish government would be sure to attack it, and
the same could be expected of the Italian delegate, the American,
and, for that matter, of all the others.

And Litvinov was not wrong. A battle flared up over the Soviet
proposal. The attack was headed by Lord Cushendun, who had ral-
lied all the anti-Soviet forces at the session. He criticised the Soviet
project, doing his best to live up to the directives he had received from
London. Lunacharsky commented, “Sweat poured from the massive
forehead down the dignitary’s fat jowls. One of the comrades on the
Soviet delegation observed wryly, 'Now the boot’s on the other foot
instead of making proletarians sweat over their work, the proleta-
rians are making the Lord sweat.’ ”

A fitting reply had to be made to Cushendun’s philippic. Luna-
charsky recalled: “The first delegate of the Soviet Land, Comrade
Litvinov, was composing his retort, translating it into English, check-
ing the text of the French translation, while our experts were making
inquiries, so that every single, even secondary, remark of Lord Cu-
shendun’s, the adversary’s chief orator, should be given due retort.
The technical staff worked tirelessly, making copies of the speech in
both languages for distribution to delegates and journalists.

“Hearty, strenuous work, and happy nights abounding in hard
work that did not stop until dawn... As Comrade Litvinov read his
retort aloud, with the Soviet arguments rising like bastions, the en-
thusiasm of our delegation kept mounting.

“And the effect was what we had expected it to be.

“Following insignificant speakers with their insignificant and rever-
ent statements that they were in complete accord with the British
delegate, Comrade Litvinov was finally given the floor. People in the
hall shuffled their feet and held their breath in expectation.

202

“Everybody listened with rapt attention: the presidium, the per-
sonnel of the commission, journalists and guests...

“Now and then, even though hostile, the auditorium was unable to
withhold its laughter or a gesture of surprise. The interest in what the
Soviet speaker was saying increased all the time. It was funny to
watch those at whom Litvinov aimed his darts: the Lord’s visage had
taken on a strangely childish look; he had opened his mouth a little,
and his eyes were fixed on Litvinov; from time to time his cheeks
flushed red.

“After Litvinov ended his speech, a commotion broke out. For
some minutes the interpreter could not begin the French translation.
Congratulations poured in, some from quite unexpected quarters.”

In the morning, Litvinov received a coded cable from Moscow.
“Top quarters feel your speech was excellent,” it said. 1 he cable came
from the Politburcau.

The 6th session of the Preparatory Commission adjourned at the
end of March. Litvinov left for home. On April 21, he spoke at the
3rd session of the USSR Central Executive Committee, reporting on
what the Soviet delegation had accomplished in Geneva.

His report was a long one. The only thing he did not speak about
were his altercations with Lord Cushendun and Co. He spoke of the
alignment of forces, the power balance in the world, and of the un-
productiveness of the League of Nations and its agencies, which acted
as a screen for an arms race. It was probably the first time that he
spoke so explicitly of the preparations for another war, and called
for a build-up of Soviet defences.

“We must take note of the recent worldwide increase of the very
same militarist tendencies that had precipitated a world war in 1914,”
he said. “The proceedings at the 6th session of the Preparatory Com-
mission were quite clearly a sign of the same militarism that had
preceded and accompanied the past war. Pacifist rhetoric about
security guarantees and non-aggression pacts is no more than a cover
for the same kind of political capers that had highlighted prewar
diplomacy.”

The Soviet government’s accent on peace would not be affect-
ed by that sort of thing, Litvinov went on to say. So long as the
other countries were intractable on the question of disarmament,
the USSR would, of course, closely follow all enemy moves. “We
have always declared, and do so now,” he added, “that the main
Soviet goal is to secure a peaceful setting for our construction at
home without in any way prejudicing the national interests of any
other country.”

203

The League of Nations, he said, may think complete disarmament
was an unattainable ideal or something the world should approach at
a snail’s pace over centuries or millennia. The Soviet Union, for its
part, would continue to strive for that ideal today, in the context of
current politics. It would continue to work for its prompt achieve-
ment, just as it worked for and achieved the other ideals of the work-
ing people all over the world.

The Central Executive Committee endorsed the Soviet delegation’s
conduct of affairs in Geneva.

It was ten years in May 1928 since Chichcrin was made People’s
Commissar for Foreign Affairs. That day’s Pravda observed that his
work was “an indissoluble part of the history of the Soviet Union’s
struggte against the country’s imperialist encirclement”.

In September, Chicherin’s health deteriorated. On his doctor’s
advice, he went for treatment to Germany. No one could have known
then that, in effect, he was leaving the diplomatic service for good.

Litvinov was made Acting People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs.

Even before Chicherin’s leaving, Litvinov had been given rhe mis-
sion to secure the Soviet Union’s accession to the Kellogg Pact. That
was no easy task, if only for the fact that the Pact had been conceived
as an anti-Soviet action.

lhe Kellogg Pact, a multilateral act that renounced war as an in-
strument of national policy, had been at the centre of Western diplo-
matic activity at the end of 1927. Its anti-Soviet thrust was observed
at the time by Chicherin, who said to members of the press, “The
non-inclusion of the Soviet Government among the participants of the
talks leads us to believe that the real aim of the initiators is to make
the pact an instrument for isolating the Soviet Union.”

Soviet diplomats followed the backstage negotiations related to the
pact most closely. This was done by Litvinov, who, as Chicherin told
the journalists, had produced a summary analysis of Kellogg’s pact
proposal, and shown that renunciation of war as an instrument of
national policy was in this case but another name for war prepara-
tions as an instrument of worldwide counter-revolution.

But the Soviet attitude towards the pact changed at the end of the
summer of 1928. Newspapers in Germany, France, and the United
States called for the Soviet Union’s accession. This would change
matters. And since Chichcrin had in his aforesaid talk with members
of the press given to understand that the USSR would not be found
wanting if the Western powers invited it to join, the Soviet Union’s
accession to the Kellogg Pact was now no more than a technicality.
And it was added proof in the eyes of the public that the USSR was

204

prepared to resolve any problem constructively, provided this helped
to shore up the peace.

Four days after the French invitation had arrived, Litvinov set
forth the Soviet government’s opinion of the Kellogg Pact. It was far
from perfect, he observed. Its wording on the renunciation of war was
not clear enough and open to different interpretations. Worse, there
was no commitment to disarm.

“Still,” he said, “since the Pact does objectively impose certain
obligations upon the powers in face of public opinion, and since it
offers the Soviet Government a fresh opportunity to raise before all
its signatories the question of disarmament, which is crucial for peace,
and whose implementation is the sole guarantee against war, the
Soviet Government herewith declares its consent to accede to it.”

On September 6, Litvinov handed the French Ambassador a decla-
ration he had signed that the Soviet Union was joining the Kellogg
Pact. But that was only the first step. The Kellogg Pact, as stipulated
in Article 3, would not enter into force until all ratification instru-
ments were submitted. And it turned out at the end of 1928 that
none of the signatories had yet ratified it. The treaty could well be-
come non-obligatory and stillborn. Litvinov stepped in. He offered
Poland, the Baltic states, and Romania to hasten the Pact’s entry into
force. On February 9, 1929, the ensuing talks culminated in the publi-
cation of the famous Moscow Protocol (also known as the Litvinov
protocol), ratifying the Kellogg Pact. Turkey, Persia, and Lithuania
ratified it a little later.

This was a triumph for Soviet diplomacy. The world press spoke of
Litvinov’s adroit handling of the matter, and of his having snatched
the initiative from the Western states.

After the successful signing of the Moscow Protocol, the Foreign
Commissariat set out to restore diplomatic relations with Britain.
It was clearly sinking in that the break with the USSR was a costly
thing for Britain. An influential group of Conservative businessmen
suggested sending a delegation oT British industrialists to Moscow.
On March 2,1929, the Associated Press correspondent in Moscow asked
Litvinov for an interview on this score. Litvinov replied that the
Soviet government was not averse to discussing the most desirable
ways of enlivening trade between the two countries, and would there-
fore receive the British industrialists. They arrived early in April, and
spent nearly three weeks in the Soviet Union. Important commercial
issues were discussed.

In mid-April, Litvinov left for the next session of the Preparatory
Commission in Geneva, and stayed there until the middle of May.

205

The negotiations with Britain concerning normalisation of relations
had been started, and now events had to be allowed to take their
natural course. Discussions in Geneva went on until the beginning of
May 1929. The commission rejected the principle of equitable reduc-
tions of all types of weapons, and went on to a second reading of its
own draft convention of 1927. Litvinov intervened 22 times. Some-
times he spoke two or three times a day, urging all concerned to
reduce all types of armaments and secure their numerical cut and
qualitative restriction.

Lord Cushendun summoned additional experts and advisers from
London, who helped him draw up answers to the Soviet delegation.

The demagogical utterances of the U.S. representative, Hugh Si-
mons Gibson, in support of the disarmament principle were, in ef-
fect, a hindrance to the adoption of the Soviet proposals. At long
last, the session of the Preparatory Commission was carried over to
the following year, and Litvinov returned to Moscow.

The w'orld situation was uneasy. New provocations were occurring
on the Chinese Eastern Railway. Diplomatic relations between the
Soviet Union and China were ruptured. The long-drawn-out negotia-
tions w'ith the Chinese authorities through mediators, and the Soviet
government’s goodw-ill during the conflict, failed to halt the hand of
the Chinese warlords. The provocations continued. Finally, the Chi-
nese went over to direct territorial seizures. On November 17, units
of the Soviet Special Far Eastern Army mounted a counter-offensive.
This brought the warlords to their senses. On November 28, Litvinov
cabled the head of the Mukden government, demanding that the state
of affairs on the Chinese Eastern Railway should be officially restored
to what it had been before the conflict on the basis of the Peking and
Mukden treaties of 1924. The Chinese accepted the terms, and the

situation in the region returned to normal. The Khabarovsk Protocol,
settling the Sino-Soviet conflict on the CER, was signed on Decem-
ber 22.

In December, too, the Foreign Comrpissariat completed its talks
with Britain. Diplomatic relations were restored.

But new troubles occurred in 1930. Prompted from outside, Mexi-
co broke off diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union. There was
unrest along the Finnish border, and all kinds of incidents occurred
in the Far East. In Warsaw, White emigres tried to blow up the Soviet
Mission building. The Soviets had been in power for well over twelve
years, but the capitalist world simply would not swallow this bitter
pill.

Chicherin returned from Germany in January. His long cure and
recuperation had brought back some energy*, but he was still unwell,

206

and depressed by his inability to devote himself to business. On July
21, 1930, the USSR Central Executive Committee complied with his
request to step down. A brilliant diplomat and statesman who had
played an outstanding part in the history of the Soviet state, he
retired from the political scene with his reputation unmarred.

One day in mid-July, Litvinov was chairing a sitting of the Com-
missariat’s Collegium. Krestinsky, Karakhan, Stomoniakov, and a few
other leading diplomats, attended. In the middle of the discussions,
Litvinov was summoned to the Kremlin. He left, saying he would
be back soon. He returned some ninety minutes later, and said:

“1 was at a sitting of the Politbureau. They have appointed a new
commissar for us.”

Stomoniakov asked who it was.

“They appointed me,” Litvinov replied.

There were congratulations, and some handshaking. Then a photo-
graph of all those present was taken.

On July 25, the papers published the Central Executive Committee
decision appointing Litvinov People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs.
The Commissariat’s Collegium would consist of Nikolai Krestinsky,
Litvinov’s first deputy, Lev Karakhan, his second deputy, and Boris
Stomoniakov.

Friends, Party comrades, diplomats, and the public in general wel-
comed Litvinov’s appointment. Letters came from industrial workers
and from artists, actors, and writers. V. V. Luzhsky, a distinguished
Moscow Art Theatre actor, wrote: “1 congratulate you most heartily
on your important and responsible appointment. I hail you as one of
the most considerate and responsive people in high office.”

That day Litvinov held his first press conference for foreign corres-
pondents in his new capacity. The Litvinovs had moved into a new
flat-three little rooms above a garage in the Foreign Commissariat’s
detached house on Spiridonovka Street. It was a warm July day.
Foreign correspondents made themselves comfortable on the lawn,
and a few sat on the porch. Litvinov, who installed himself on the
porch, asked if they had any questions. The correspondents were
mostly English-speaking, and Litvinov communicated with them di-
rectly, without an interpreter.

“Arc you pleased with your appointment, Mr. Litvinov?”

“Yes, very pleased, though my job won’t be easy. The rich experi-
ence of my brilliant predecessor, Georgy Chicherin, splendid diplomat
and statesman, will be a constant example for me to emulate.”

One correspondent asked if the new appointment would lead to
changes in Soviet foreign policy.

207

No, Litvinov replied. And not only because he had in his ten years
with Chicherin participated in working out foreign policy, but also,
and above all, because any change in leadership had none of the
implications in the Soviet Union that it had in capitalist states.

“In capitalist countries,” he explained, “changes in cabinet posts
are in most cases the result of a struggle between political parties and
reflect the class interests those parties happen to represent. Some-
times, they reflect adjustments to suit changes in the general situa-
tion, and even to suit outside influences. In the country where
workers and peasants are in power, foreign policy depends on the
will of the worker-peasant masses as expressed in decisions of the
Soviet government.”

“What can you say of further relations with the Western coun-
tries?”

“The Soviet Union will do its utmost to live in peace, and to do
business with all countries. In short, we’ll carry on our old, tried and
true foreign policy, which we know to be right and to conform with
the interests of all nations, and also with the growing power of the
Soviet Union.”

A week before his appointment as Foreign Commissar, Litvinov
had marked his 54th birthday. He was in his prime. He would accom-
plish many things, and endure many things.

But in those days he was obviously in a good mood. Gratefully,
he received the congratulations of his friends. A fatherly letter went
off to his son and daughter, who were in a summer camp in Zveni-
gorod, near Moscow.

His daughter replied: “Daddy, you were deputychicherin, now

you’re selfchicherin.”

pacifism was quickly ending.

At the 16th Congress of the Communist Party a thorough analysis
was made of the world situation. The partial stabilisation of capitalism
in the earlier period was eroding. The contradictions of the imperialist
system were growing more acute, and the threat of new imperialist
wars increased. The situation of the working class and the mass of
the working people all over the capitalist world was growing worse.
Bourgeois-democratic states were going fascist.

“The aggravation of all the contradictions of the imperialist sys-
tem,” the Congress noted, “occurs alongside an aggravation of con-
tradictions between the USSR and the surrounding capitalist world.”

The world bourgeoisie was seething with venomous hatred for
the world’s only socialist state, and dreaded its revolutionising
influence. This prompted the capitalist world to organise economic
blockades, to combat Soviet exports, slander the Soviets in the press,
and prepare assiduously for a war against the Soviet Union.

Certainly, no one could have said at the time that a second world
war would begin nine years later. But it was all too clear that the
1930s would sec a chain of tragic events.

Nothing cardinal changed at the Foreign Commissariat after Lit-
vinov’s appointment as People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs.
He reduced his personal staff a little, and distributed the redundant
personnel, depending on preferences, among the respective depart-
ments. Night work had long since ceased. As in Chicherin’s time,
Litvinov arrived at his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and left at 6 p.m. Kre-
stinsky and Stomaniakov, it is true, would sometimes work later.
Karakhan was also liable to, but more rarely.

As usual, Litvinov started the day by looking through the mail.
He read all the letters, both official and personal. In the early 30s,
the number of personal letters increased. People were following their
country’s foreign policy. They rejoiced at its successes and at the
growing prestige of the Soviet Union. They suggested solutions, ex-

14-01072

209

pressed gratitude, wished health and success. Litvinov replied to the
letters himself. If he asked his secretary to do so, he would look
through her drafts.

Then Litvinov received the department heads. One at a time,
punctually as scheduled. On fixed days, there was the Collegium
meeting.

Here is the evidence of Yevgeni Rubinin, former Soviet ambas-
sador to Belgium. It reveals some important traits of Litvinov’s
character:

“Litvinov was incredibly scrupulous. It was as though he shovelled
through the case he was dealing with from top to bottom, making
a profound and considered examination. This inspired reverence.
His foreign colleagues may have disagreed with him, but no one ever
treated him with disrespect despite the abyss of ideological differen-
ces. He never left a point unproved. His was a creative, thoughtful,
ever searching personality. And his conduct of affairs contributed
to the Soviet Union’s growing prestige. At conferences, he was always
at the centre of attention. He provoked fury among German and
Italian fascists, but they were always compelled to take everything
he said in full earnest.”

Human passions and frailties were not foreign to Litvinov. That is
quite clear if you look at the various sides of his life. Yet he was an
extraordinarily orderly person, a man of discipline. He might have
argued vehemently upholding his point of view, even at Politbureau
sittings, which occurred often enough, but once a decision was taken
he always carried it out, and required all Foreign Commissariat staff
to do the same. One never heard the word “discipline” at the Foreign
Commissariat, but tight and rigid discipline reigned there all the same,
confirming the truly Bolshevist training of the personnel.

I he reports the department chiefs made to Litvinov every morning,
took ten minutes each. Litvinov listened, reacting from time to time
with his sacramental grunt, though it was always difficult to under-
stand whether it was in approval or otherwise. He made his associates
lay everything on the line, set out all their arguments, and then make
their recommendations. On the following day, the respective depart-
ment chief would be given a copy of Litvinov’s letter to Stalin. Lit-
vinov smiled, giving to understand that, you see, your recommenda-
tion has been accepted.

In early November 1930 Litvinov again went to Geneva. To attend
the second half of the 6th session of the Preparatory Commission on
Disarmament. Lunacharsky came along once more as a member of
the delegation. The relationship of the two men was ever more close.
Each knew what the other had on his mind.

210

Lunacharsky described the atmosphere at the session:

“It was as though there had been no hard eighteen months since
the first half of the 6th session in the spring of 1929. The Soviet de-
legation walked along the same streets, the same corridors, to the
same glass hall, where the same order reigned, and the faces, too,
were all nearly the same.”

To be sure, Lunacharsky added, the tables were arranged a little
differently, and all the delegations, to avoid injury, were seated in
alphabetical order.

“The Polish delegate,” he wrote, “was a general instead of Sokal,
and the Turks had Munir Bey, their ambassador in Paris, instead of
Tewfik Rushdi, etc. Count Bemstorff, with his closely shaved clever
visage and the typically diplomatic parting of his hair; the cunning
little Sato with his knavish little eyes; Rene Massigli with the manners
of a senior shop’s attendant offering tempting samples of silk; the
pigeon-toed corpulent General de Marinis, who is nobody’s fool,
and the Athenian sophist Nicolaos Socrates Politis, his neck swathed
in a scarf... And then the most eminent new figure— Robert Cecil,
the Viscount Cecil of Chclwood, his face yellow and wrinkled, his
manners un-English, a bit too jumpy. Genial in appearance, he resemb--
les a large bird, his back hunched. His nose protruding altogether
like a big hook. Then add his long-fingered hands that are conti-
nuously bunched like the claws of a bird. From time to time, the
claws touch the nose, as though Cecil is sharpening his beak. I’ve
seen old crows do it. He’s a liberal, a humanist, and a neo-Christian...
Then, our incongruous chairman, Mr. Loudan, and his aide, the Greek
Agnidas.”

So much for Lunacharsky’s impressions. The events unfolded as
they had at previous sessions. Loudan expressed his gratification over
the successes marked up at past sessions. He admitted that the times
were “more troubled than ever”, but said there would be no debate.
That meant the Soviet proposal would not be discussed. Litvinov
came to grips with him. He described the situation and the events
that had occurred in the eighteen months since the session was
adjourned. He insisted that they discuss disarmament.

Loudan could not hold himself. He interrupted Litvinov, said the
speaker was straying from the subject of the conference. Litvinov
ignored Loudan ’s remark, and continued to speak. Loudan reacted
by telling the interpreters to stop translating Litvinov’s speech into
French (Litvinov was speaking English). Lunacharsky recalled the
noise in the hall. The journalists walked out in protest. Litvinov made
the most of the situation. Turning to Loudan, he said: “I thank the
chairman for heightening interest in my speech by forbidding its

211

translation. But why has he picked French? Does he think the French-
speaking delegates are not old enough to hear such speeches?”

There was laughter in the hall.

Lunacharsky wrote: “Certainly, Comrade Litvinov’s speech was
the centrepiece... The result was good. The possibility that the three
main clauses would be revised, was left open. A truly stirring Bolshe-
vik speech has been delivered. The sympathies, even if temporary, are
on our side. Even bourgeois journalists congratulated Maxim Litvinov.”

The second half of the 6th session lasted until December 9, 1930.
The discussions showed that the power balance had not changed.
The Western powers were determined to obfuscate the concrete Soviet
proposals with meaningless talk of disarmament.

Litvinov decided to leave Geneva. lie went to Milan, where he met
the Italian Foreign Minister. They would discuss Soviet-Italian rela-
tions. Meanwhile, Lunacharsky, who stayed in Geneva, handed
Loudan a letter and memorandum of the Soviet delegation on De-
cember 4, elucidating the Soviet point of view on various sections of
the draft convention. Loudan refused to attach the texts to the com-
mission’s report. The Soviet proposals were not reflected in the
adopted draft.

Millions of people wondered if it was worth while wasting time
and effort on ail these sessions, and on the world conference that
was due to open in two years. Lunacharsky was inclined to disagree:
“Those who say the conference is a lot of useless bother, are quite
wrong. To begin with, wc must not expect it to be entertaining.
Every piece of work calls for tenacity and patience. The work we are
doing in Geneva is important. It is a battle for public opinion against
bourgeois policies of all hues and calibres. Is it not indicative that
1,500 pacifist societies have for the first time in the history of the
Petition Chamber sided with our proposal and used all the arguments
of Comrade Litvinov. That means we have created a left pacifism.
Our delegation in Geneva is the vanguard of the great world prole-
tariat, and is fighting day after day for the cause we serve.”

The assessment of the world situation by the 16th Congress of the
Communist Party was confirmed by the course of events in various
parts of the world. In 1931, the situation in the Far East deteriorated
once again. The Japanese militarists stepped up their anti-Soviet cam-
paign, and were backed by reactionary circles in the United States.
The latter were eager to drive a wedge between the Soviet Union
and Japan.

To -be sure, the events did not entirely follow the Washington
scenario. On September 19, 1931, the Japanese went into action in

212

Manchuria. The more far-sighted American statesmen saw this as the
beginning of a Japanese expansionist drive into other parts of Asia
“of special interest” for U.S. business. But ruling quarters in the
United States and Britain took no action. They hoped Japan, would
be bogged down in a war against China, and would then, inevitably,
come to grips with the Soviet Union. The United States abstained
from accusing Japan of breaching the Kellogg Pact. Japan, the aggres-
sor, and China, its victim, Were put on the same footing. The League
of Nations, too, did nothing in particular, except calling on the sides,
that is, the aggressor and his victim, not to expand the conflict. On
December 10, 1931, the League of Nations set up the so-called Com-
mittee of Five, which was to study the situation on the spot. Lord
Lytton, ex-Viceroy of India, was put at its head.

In the meantime, Japan overran Manchuria. The Japanese advance
to the Soviet border was a distinct threat. Swift and firm diplomatic
action was called for.

At this time, Litvinov devoted most of his attention to the Far
Eastern problem. He moved to strengthen the Soviet position in the
F'ar East. His actions encouraged the liberation forces, and prompted
China to restore diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union. The two
countries concluded a non-aggression treaty. The understanding was
reached in June 1932, after Litvinov’s talks with the Chinese repre-
sentative at the World Disarmament Conference in Geneva. But even
before relations with China were restored, the Soviet diplomatic
service, which had followed the activities of the Lytton Commission
closely, took a series of steps that torpedoed the West’s anti-Soviet
intrigues and destroyed the designs of channelling the Japanese aggres-
sion against the Soviet Union.

The Lytton Commission did not go to China, the theatre of the
undeclared war, first, but to the United States and Japan. This was
liable, indeed, to prompt Japan to mount fresh provoca-
tive actions against the Soviet Union. Not until March 1932 did the
commission come to China, and not until April to Manchuria. Japan
had long since installed itself in the Chinese Eastern Railway zone.
Conflicts multiplied, and were fraught with dangerous consequences.

Litvinov submitted a set of proposals on Soviet policy in the Far
East to the Party’s Central Committee.

After talks with members of the Politbureau, which took several
hours, Litvinov returned to the Foreign Commissariat, summoned
Benedict Kozlovsky, who was in charge of Far Eastern affairs, and,
laconically as usual, said, “Comrade Kozlovsky, start getting the
papers ready. We are going to sell our share in the Chinese Eastern
Railway to the Japanese.”

213

The conflict with Japan, eagerly awaited in Western capitals, was
thus averted. In 1935, the Chinese Eastern Railway question was
finally settled. The Soviet Union’s political situation in the Far East
improved.

The early thirties were highlighted by two important events— the
World Disarmament Conference and the Monetary and Economic
Conference.

'I here was hardly any hope, even after the many years of prepara-
tion, that the Disarmament Conference would be successful. But true
to its policy of peace, the Soviet Union continued its fight for dis-
armament. A few years later, at a ceremony on receiving the Order
of Lenin, Litvinov would speak of the importance of that leading
principle of the Soviet Union’s Leninist foreign policy.

“We offered universal disarmament at the very' first international
conference we attended. We repeat this offer on every' possible occa-
sion... If we arm ourselves, it is not for any trial of strength with
anyone. We do so to dampen all hope of impunity in a trial of
strength against us. We have issued offer after offer to other count-
ries concerning the best possible system of organising universal peace.
I say universal because we want peace not only for ourselves, but
also for other nations.”

It was with this aim in mind that Litvinov went to Geneva again
in February 1932. And again he was accompanied by Lunacharsky
and a tight little group of experts and technical staff.

Agnessa Romm, a Foreign Commissariat stenographer who
had been with Litvinov in Geneva on most of his visits, recollects:
“We stayed in one boarding-house. Litvinov and Lunacharsky
had the same rooms as we, the staff. We ate at the same tabic,
and the meals were the same for all. It was a merry, close-knit
company.

“At the World Disarmament Conference all of us had our hands
full. As usual, Litvinov was cool, balanced, and considerate with us.
In the evenings, he read the papers and magazines. He had no press
assistant, and followed the press himself. He read English, German,
and French papers, and leafed through the Italian and Spanish.

“If there was to be a sitting or an assembly, Litvinov would dictate
the draft of his speech the night before. He did it with great care. If
the speech was to be in English, he made the translation himself.

“In the evenings, we sometimes went to the pictures together.
Litvinov was fond of the cinema and after seeing one film was not
averse to seeing another if he had the time.

“Not all of us went to the receptions. We did not have the requisite

214

clothes. Our modest allowance was spent on a few tins of coffee or
some other delicacy unavailable in Moscow in those days.”

Geneva had looked forward to the arrival of the Soviet delegation.
The capitalist world was gripped by crisis. The Soviet Union alone
was making economic headway, building factories, with not a hint
of unemployment. This enhanced its prestige. Litvinov received
letters from many countries. People asked to be granted Soviet citi-
zenship. Commercial firms offered textiles, machinery, foodstuffs,
and other commodities. All requests and offers went to the appropria-
te government departments.

The popularity of the Soviet delegation was a bitter pill for the
White emigres to swallow. Litvinov was informed that terrorist acts
were possible. He forbade members of the delegation to leave the
house after dark. The Swiss authorities, he noted, were none too
friendly.

Nearly all countries had sent representatives to the Disarmament
Conference. But war preparations continued at full speed behind the
scenes. .Manchuria had been overrun. A war was in full swing in China.
Mussolini was poised to attack Ethiopia. The situation in Germany
was increasingly alarming. Adolf Hitler was conducting secret talks
with Germany’s financial and industrial tycoons. Power in the country
was practically within his grasp.

What did the rest of Europe think of the revival of militarist Ger-
many? U.S. Secretary of State Henry Stimson commented: “A de-
featist spirit reigns across the world.” Yes, defeatism in face of an
exuberantly advancing fascism, we could add. France was afraid of
the German militarism, but encouraged it despite its fears. Britain’s
policy was much the same. Political confusion and cabinet reshuffles
marked Europe’s political scene.

Germany was about to launch a colossal arms programme. Shortly
before the conference, the bourgeois parties there had conducted
a joint campaign “For German Equality in Armaments”.

On February 2, 1932, the World Conference opened. Along with •
an incredibly large number of particular proposals, it was to examine
the project of the Preparatory Commission, the Tardieu Plan sub-
mitted by France, and the Soviet proposals for complete disarmament
or a substantial progressive proportional arms reduction, slightly al-
tered in the light of preceding discussions.

But the opening speech by conference chairman Arthur Henderson
was a clear indication that the big powers were not thinking of disar-
mament, but rather of arming. Naturally, Germany jumped at the
chance. Chancellor Heinrich Briining declared at the conference that
Germany demanded equal rights and equal security. What this meant

215

was equality in arms or, in effect, Germany’s rearmament.

On February 11 came Litvinov’s turn to speak. lie reminded the
audience that the noises at the conference were accompanied by the
noise of booming guns and exploding bombs. Any delay in disarma-
ment, he added, would bring closer a worldwide war. “We face the
problem of disarmament, which should be resolved without further
delay,” he said. He tore the Tardicu Plan to shreds, saying the League
of Nations army it envisaged would be an obedient instrument in the
hands of the West. He added:

“I leave aside the question of how the Soviet Union can be ex-
pected to entrust its security, and a part of its own troops, to an in-
ternational organisation that consists mainly of countries which are
obviously hostile and refuse to have any relations with it. In the cir-
cumstances, the workers and peasants of the Soviet Union will see
such an international army as a threat to their country.”

Step by step, Litvinov destroyed the hare-brained Western schemes.
He set forth the goal of the Soviet Union in the clearest of terms: it
was essential that there should be security against war.

Here arc some of Lunacharsky’s impressions:

“Litvinov’s speech was heard with enormous and intense atten-
tion... It cast lights and shadows. In general, the press was again sur-
prisingly favourable. The German papers praised his forceful criticism,
his sensible restraint, the political depth of his speech. The Italian
press, though it sidestepped what was completely indigestible for
fascists, praised the speech in general, and its effective criticism of the
French project in particular. More or less the same applies to the
British press. The French press, as far as the official papers were con-
cerned, was furious. Incapable of retorting in substance, it repeated
slanders about Soviet militarism, while some papers took the easy
road of criticising Litvinov’s English. Mind you, it was the French and
not the English who criticised his language. While the Daily Herald
saw fit to praise Mr. Litvinov’s excellent English.

“But the French press, too, was not of one mind. L’lntransigeant,
for example, observed that, in truth, the clear, categorical, in places
brazen and taunting speech of the Moscow delegate had made a tre-
mendous impression. It was like a rock dropped into a fetid swamp.”

Litvinov took the floor thrice on the main item on the agenda.
Commenting on one of Litvinov’s speeches, made on February 25,
Lunacharsky wrote:

“In a short speech, strong as steel, Litvinov has again devastatingly
motivated the correctness of the Soviet Union’s basic point of view.
The audience sat in morose silence.” Litvinov’s three speeches, he 1
added, “arc in fact powerful centres of attraction and obvious symp-

216

toms of the regrouping of forces that is still only vague but may one
day proceed at a revolutionary pace.”

The Soviet position elicited a response all over the world. Albert
Einstein, Bertrand Russell, and other eminent scientists cabled Gene-
va, expressing admiration of the Soviet stand. A letter to the same
effect arrived from Camilla Dreuvet, secretary of the International
Women’s League.

Litvinov replied to her: “My government, on whose behalf I have
had the honour to defend the project of universal disarmament over
the past five years, is firmly convinced and has enough proof that the
idea is welcomed by most of mankind, irrespective of sex. Your letter
is added proof that it is close to the hearts of the female half of huma-
nity, which suffers the horrors of war not only directly, but also in
agonising worry for husbands, sons, and brothers.”

Although the proposal for general and complete disarmament had
not been adopted and was, in fact, resisted by other governments,
he added, the Soviet Union did not intend to give up. It would con-
tinue the fight for the only effective means of delivering humanity
from the scourge of war and the burdens of militarism.

The Western powers went out of their way to spurn the Soviet
proposals. An American plan appeared on the agenda in June 1932.
Its author was President Herbert Hoover, who paraded his love of
peace in anticipation of the coming elections. In formal terms, the
U.S. project envisaged a 33 per cent reduction of all types of arma-
ments. But it was so devised as to considerably weaken France,
Britain, and Japan, and leave the U.S. army intact. Litvinov came out
with concrete amendments to the U.S. project. The Soviet delegation,
he said, believed it fair and politically desirable to cut the arms of
the more powerful countries by 50 per cent.

The Soviet amendments were turned down. After lengthy nego-
tiations, a new draft resolution appeared which was neither definite
nor concrete as concerned disarmament. It was put to a vote. That
was when Litvinov submitted a proposal that was long discussed
thereafter in the lobby of the conference and in the world press. He
suggested scrapping the principle of a general vote.

“After all,” he said, “the economic relations of all delegations,
and the related resolution, will not be judged on the basis of speeches
and explications. They will be judged by how the delegations voted,
for or against the resolution. It would be most deplorable if the voting
created the impression that the conference had unanimously adopted
this resolution as the limit of what the peoples of all countries meant
by disarmament.”

His proposal was accepted. The voting was by roll-call. When it

217

was Litvinov’s turn to vote, he said, “I am for disarmament, and
against the resolution.”

The public in many countries applauded. Fifteen hundred various
societies sent resolutions to the British government, duplicating the
Soviet proposal for immediate and complete disarmament. The peace
forces began to consolidate, helping to create the socio-political
foundation for the emergence of the anti-fascist Resistance nine years
later. Sympathy for the Soviet Union, that had accumulated as a re-
sult, became a giant mainspring during the Second World War. The
peoples of Nazi-occupied countries learned from their own bitter
experience that the Soviet Union had been right when it so vehe-
mently opposed fascism and the preparations for another war.

In Geneva, Litvinov made two important demarches. On February
20, the local American Club held a luncheon in his honour. The hall
could seat 250. Eight hundred wished to attend. The U.S. journalists
were playing host. Litvinov used the opportunity to build a bridge
to the future with the aim of normalising relations with the United
States. At the very outset, Lenin had called for normal relations with
that country. And all those years, the Soviet Union worked assiduous-
ly for this goal. Now, in Geneva, there was an opportunity to make
one more step in the right direction.

Lunacharsky, who naturally attended the luncheon, recalled:
“Litvinov’s humorous speech was a masterpiece in its way. Not only
did it show Litvinov’s diplomatic scope but also revealed certain
traits of his character.”

Litvinov said:

‘Thank you for inviting me to this luncheon, and for the oppor-
tunity of addressing American citizens-a pleasure that I am often
compelled to deny myself. The initiative of the American Committee
reminded me once more of how far removed from the truth official
cliches and expressions can be. Officially, our two countries have no
relations. Yet we know the tremendous interest in your country in
everything that is happening in the Soviet Union. The peoples of the
Soviet Union, too, want to know about life in America, and about
its literature and culture.

“It is hardly appropriate, I think, to speak here of anything other
than the subjects that occupy international Geneva. Half our ear
listens to disarmament speeches, and the other half to the noises of
war, of guns booming and exploding bombs.

“We pretend that speeches of a future peace are stronger than
today’s thunder of war. When people ask each other about their
impressions of the first few weeks of the conference, they promptly

218

reply in an optimistic spirit. They say it has made a good start and
that the pessimists, who had been sceptical, have been proved wrong.
If 1 only believed that optimism would help the conference succeed,
that it would further disarmament and the cause of peace, you would
hear me speak in a most rosy style, making the brightest predictions.

“We know of Emile Coue’s treatment. According to his system
you can cure yourself of any illness if you repeat day after day that
you are feeling better, that you are not ill. To follow Coue’s advice,

I would have to say to myself and others that things were going swim-
mingly, that we were disarming, that peace and quiet has returned to
the Far East, that China’s independence has not been violated, that
word of Manchuria’s secession from China had only accidentally
coincided with Manchuria’s occupation by foreign troops, and that
moral disarmament has blunted the bayonets of the Japanese and
Chinese, and turned bullets, shells, grenades, and bombs into harmless
fireworks.

“I do not want to stain the medical reputation of the late Couc
and his followers. But I have no faith at all in his system as regards the
socio-political sphere.

“It seems to me that historically progress is not propelled by self-
satisfaction and complacency; on the contrary, dressing up the facts is
dangerous. I am sorry to say that looking at the facts I see nothing
that could inspire more optimism than there was before the conferen-
ce. True, the conference came into the world after agonising birthpains,
and has not yet gained muscle or spoken its last word. But the sounds
it has made so far show no sign of future strength, ability or talent.

“If you consider that from the point of view of the Soviet delega-
tion mere limitation or reduction of arms is but a weak palliative
which does not bring us closer to the goal that would justify an in-
ternational conference convened after a thirteen-year period of pre-
paration, that goal being security against war-if you consider that,
you will agree that optimism is the last thing you can expect from us.
So far, our call for complete and universal disarmament, that only
possible guarantee against war, has elicited no response at the confe-
rence.

“The proposals that are being made at the conference give rise
to fears that it may be sidetracked. It has always seemed to us that
disarmament meant nothing other than eliminating or reducing
armaments, and that, in any case, the conference would deal with
one issue only, that of disarmament. But that is not what some other
people think. In the Preparatory Commission there had been attempts
to substitute the question of security for that of disarmament. No one
would object to security. Neither does the Soviet delegation. But we

219

say that in the prevailing socio-economic conditions there cannot
be security so long as one nation is able to attack another, so long as
there are arms for such attack... Those who think otherwise, imagine
that security amounts to more or less equating chances by redistri-
buting or even building up arms. We have already seen that sort of
security before the war.

“What such security amounts to is the old balance of power that
guided the hand of prewar diplomacy. It failed to safeguard the world
from a most horrible war, and had at best enhanced the security of
some nations at the expense of others. In sum, however, it diminished
the confidence in security that we knew before the war. Need we have
endured all the horrors and privations of the world war, need we have
prepared this conference for thirteen years, need we have concluded
pacts and agreements, just to fall back again on the old principles of
international diplomacy, even if slightly dressed up and garnished
with new slogans?

“We have done nothing yet for physical disarmament. We have not
reduced the existing armies by a single unit. Yet we are told we should
take up moral disarmament. N’o one would object to moral disarma
ment, to halting the jingoist propaganda in the press and literature,
the cinema, schoolbooks, and through children’s toys. Would anyone
object to destroying false documents, and so on? The Soviet delega-
tion least of all. For no other country is exposed to so much moral
venom in the press, in speeches, even official documents, which fact
you citizens of the United States will surely corroborate. Nobody
knows better than you ho.w relations between our countries are being
morally poisoned by stage-managed slander campaigns and falsified
documents, organised by commercial and banking interests, poli-
tical adventurers, and counter-revolutionary emigres who will sell
themselves to anyone— China today, Japan tomorrow, someone else
the day after. We would never object to any measure that combats
the lying ink-slingers. But everything has its time and place. The
subject was dealt with some time ago at an international conference
held under the auspices of the Danish government, and the Soviet
Union was happy to take part in it... But all that has little or nothing
to do with the elimination or reduction of armaments. I maintain that
the existence of large quantities of armaments, and hence of the hope
to make war, to make war successfully by means of alliances and
pacts, is creating the very chauvinism, the very- venom that we are told
should be wiped out by nothing but administrative means.

“There is no denying that deep-going economic, political, and
territorial differences exist between the capitalist states. Some count-
ries think that their neighbours occupy land that belongs to them,

220

and therefore call for the restoration of their violated rights, for
rectifying frontiers, and the like. And those differences will not eva-
porate if the happy holder of the contested land says, ‘Dear neigh-
bours, forgive us our transgressions as we forgive you yours.’ That is
not how history is made, how international relations are improved.
What we should all strive for is that this resentment should not lead
to any attempt at altering the state of affairs by resort to arms.

“I should also like to say that absence of security is not always
correctly located. Some delegates at the conference said the lack of
security was due to the fact that the Soviet Union was not a member
of the League of Nations. The most remarkable thing is that this was
said by spokesmen whose governments refuse to have relations with
my country. That is as incongruous as if I were to ask someone I
refuse to associate with to join my club. If we really wanted to know
the factors, apart from armaments, that create the present atmosphere
of political concern, insecurity and instability, we would most pro-
bably spot them in the prevailing estrangement of a multitude of sta-
tes, on the one hand, and the 160 million people of the Soviet Union,
on the other. Suffice it to recall the current events in the Pacific.
Take the three greatest Pacific Ocean countries, namely, the Soviet
Union, China, and the United States; the latter two have no relations
with the former. And I am sure it takes very little imagination and
foresight to see how this has contributed to, if not precipitated, the
current events in the Far East. I am quite sure that if this had not
been the case, the sad events would not have occurred at all or at
least taken a different course...”

The Manchester Guardian wrote that the atmosphere at the confe-
rence was reminiscent of that in a molasses factory- until the fresh
breeze from Moscow cleared the air after the Soviet Foreign Commis-
sar Litvinov’s speech at the luncheon.

But while building a bridge to the minds and hearts of the Ameri-
can people, who less than a year later elected Franklin Delano Roose-
velt as President, the Soviet Union did not burn the bridges it had
built in yet another direction; it followed events in Germany with
mounting concern.

The situation in that country was nothing less than ominous.
One of Hitler’s closest associates, Hermann Goring, had become chair-
man of the Reichstag. Germany was going fascist, and was seeking
“arms equality” with the backing of reactionary quarters in the West.

Litvinov decided to appeal to the German public, to remind
Germans of the Rapallo Treaty, of the role it had played, yielding
palpable advantages and helping both countries to emerge from
political isolation.

221

On April 16, 1932, the tenth anniversary of the Rapallo Treaty,
Litvinov was in Geneva. Here he received German and Soviet journa-
lists, and made the following statement:

“The anniversary is noteworthy in many respects, for the Treaty’s
international impact is not confined to just the bilateral relations of
its signatories. It is fully relevant to this day. Remember when it was
signed. It was signed a mere four years after the World War, when
truly peaceful and normal relations had not yet been established
between the Soviet Union and Germany, on the one hand, and the
rest of the states, on the other. Like the Soviet Union, Germany was
isolated and subjected to pressure on all sides. It would seem that
each of the two states could have been enlisted in a common front
against the other. But they chose to shake hands, and declared their
wish to forget the recent past, write off mutual claims, launch new,
truly peaceful and normal relations, and secure international coopera-
tion.

“The Rapallo Treaty is added proof that courageous, resolute and
radical solution of international issues is the simplest and the most
effective. This is especially useful to remember here in Geneva, where,
as ten years ago, we have again come to an international conference
that has a bearing on future world affairs and, what is more, on the
issue of war and peace. The problem we have tackled at the conferen-
ce has been bedevilling us for more than ten years. The current con-
ference, too, has settled none of the items on the agenda. Partly, be-
cause some of them, if soluble at all, cannot be solved by half-hearted
and irresolute steps, and because they call for courageous radical
solutions. The Disarmament Conference would make far better
headway if the delegations were moved by the same ideas that in-
spired the Rapallo Treaty ten years ago. That is why I think it is
not merely a bilateral instrument, but an international act that has
been a good lesson for all concerned, and a model for emula-
tion.”

Litvinov’s appeal to German public opinion was more than a poli-
tical action. It refuted the invention of Western diplomats, notably
Herbert von Dirksen, former German ambassador to Moscow, that
Litvinov was a convinced opponent of Rapallo. True, Dirksen had
a second version, to the effect that Litvinov had never deviated from
the pro-German orientation until the Nazi seizure of power gave him
an excuse, that he may, indeed, have dreamt of, to abandon the Ra-
pallo system.

Litvinov’s statement of April 16, 1932, in Geneva destroyed the
legends created by Dirksen and other historians from Ribbentrop’s
agency.

222

The World Conference closed in the summer of 1932, after many
months of debate. It was decided to carry over the discussion of
disarmament to the next session. Litvinov left for Moscow.

Stormclouds were gathering over Europe. The epicentre of a new
war was coming into bold relief. A wave of chauvinism and revenge
was rolling across Germany. The jingoist campaign encouraged by do-
mestic and foreign capitalists was yielding poisonous fruit: Hitler’s
people were gaining ground. Germany was turning into the head office
of world anti-communism. It was priming for an attack on the Soviet
Union.

Germany’s arming received fresh impulse in December 1932,
when a five-power conference in Geneva, attended by the United
States, Britain, France, Italy, and Germany, recognised Germany’s
right to equal armaments.

Now Germany had licence to militarise. Matters proceeded at
lightning speed. On January 30, 1933, Adolf Hitler, political rogue
and chief of the National Socialist Party, became Chancellor of the
German Reich. The Rapallo Treaty, one of the cornerstones of Euro-
pean peace, as Litvinov aptly described it, was in deadly peril.

What w'ould come next? We saw the Soviet government make de-
marche after demarche in a bid to lengthen the period of peace and
give the country a chance to advance its economy, its agriculture,
and, notably, its defence capacity. There was much to do and, in
historical terms, very little time to do it in.

The Soviet Union, dedicated as it was to the Leninist principles
of peaceful coexistence, sought new contacts with the United States.
The latter, too, had a stake in normalising relations with the Soviet
Union. This was out of the question, however, as long as Hoover was
in the White House. But after the November 1932 elections, the situa-
tion was likely to change. Roosevelt’s election to the presidency gave
grounds for hope. In his election speeches he had hinted that normal
relations with the USSR would be beneficial.

At Litvinov’s suggestion, a veteran Soviet journalist, Pavel La-
pinsky, a former Polish Social-Democrat of long standing, prominent
in the international labour movement, a man of wide-ranging know-
ledge well acquainted with world affairs, was sent to the United Sta-
tes.

Lapinsky was in the diplomatic service in the 1920s, and had been
in charge of diplomatic information at the Soviet Mission in Berlin
from 1924 to 1929. Diplomatic information departments at Soviet
missions abroad had been set up by Chicherin, and were most useful.

In the United States, Lapinsky made extensive contacts, and,
among other things, was introduced to Eleanor Roosevelt. All this

223

helped to win sympathy for the Soviet Union, and gave credence to
its future official recognition.

But the activity of the League of Nations was creating anxiety.
It had earned no respect in any part of the world. If the Soviet Union
were to join it, it might still play a positive role in the effort to avert
war. The Soviet government instructed Litvinov to establish closer
contacts with statesmen and politicians in France, Czechoslovakia,
and the Scandinavian countries.

On February 6, 1933, at the second session of the World Disarma-
ment Conference in Geneva, Litvinov came out with a Soviet draft
declaration defining aggression. It defined aggression quite conclusi-
vely for its day, and outlined the measures that should be taken
against aggressors. Its first point said: “The attacking side in an in-
ternational conflict was the country that had first committed any
of the following actions.” The enumeration was precise and ruled
out mistakes and ambiguous interpretations. The world public-
received it with obvious gratification. But complying with the instruc-
tions of their governments, the Western delegations turned the offer
down.

Still, the Soviet diplomat did get some satisfaction. On April 19,
1933, in a talk with Juliusz Lukasiewicz, the Polish ambassador in
Moscow, Litvinov suggested holding a conference of committed
adjacent countries to discuss a declaration defining the attacking
side. Talks on the subject were also started with other neighbour
countries.

On June 12, a World F.conomic Conference opened in London.
And again Litvinov threw a spanner into the carefully considered
designs of the Western diplomats. Speaking on behalf of the Soviet
government, he offered the statesmen gathered in London to sign a
convention defining aggression. Litvinov’s arguments were devasta-
tingly convincing. If the Western countries declined to sign it, they
would stand exposed in the eyes of their own peoples, who were
deeply troubled by the going-on in Nazi Germany.

Naturally, it was impossible to persuade everybody. But a beginning
was made. In July 1933, the Soviet offer was accepted by Afgha-
nistan, F.stonia, Latvia, Persia, Poland, Romania, Turkey, Czechoslo-
vakia, Yugoslavia, Lithuania, and Finland. That was a triumph for
Soviet diplomacy. The Pravda described it as such.

Dozens of years have passed, but to this day people show an in-
terest in what the Soviet Union did before the war to make peace-
more secure. Even bourgeois historians keep returning to the subject,
which is also relevant today, and give due credit to Soviet diplomacy.

Soviet diplomats scored one more victory at the F.conomic Confe-

224

►

rence in London. Following Litvinov’s talks with British statesmen,
the British government resumed trading with the Soviet Union. This
prompted other countries to do the same.

Hours after one more sitting of the conference ended, Raymond
Molley and William Bullitt came to see Litvinov at his hotel. On
instructions of the U.S. government, they told him of their plan for
future economic relations with Russia. The U.S. diplomats made
clear, too, that their country was prepared to discuss recognition of
the Soviet Union.

I5-0107J

Chapter 8

THE WASHINGTON MISSION

On November 7, 1933, a Soviet national holiday, at about the hour
when processions of Moscow citizens marched across Red Square,
the ocean liner Berengaria dropped anchor in New York harbour.
A plump man wearing a dark autumn coat, a stylish broad-brimmed
hat, and white scarf, came down the gangway to board a naval launch.
He was carrying a walking stick and a large briefcase. It was Maxim
Litvinov.

Starting a succession of waves as it gathered speed, the launch
headed for shore. A few minutes later, Litvinov stepped on firm
ground, accompanied by Ivan Divilkovsky, General Secretary of the
USSR Foreign Commissariat, and Konstantin Umansky, Chief of the
Commissariat’s Press Department.

Thus began Litvinov’s Washington mission. But much time had
passed before it became possible and the Soviet Union’s international
prestige had risen high enough.

Lenin had always kept an eye on the political course of the United
States and the mood of the Americans. On August 20, 1918, in his
Letter to American Workers, he wrote: “The American people have a
revolutionary tradition which has been adopted by the best repre-
sentatives of the American proletariat, who have repeatedly expressed
their complete solidarity with us Bolsheviks.”

In September 1919, Lenin said Soviet Russia was prepared to have
close trade relations with the United States.

In the critical days when Yudcnich’s counter-revolutionary army
was approaching Petrograd and Denikin’s was approaching Tula,
Lenin carved out some time to speak to Chicago Daily News corres-
pondent Levin. “We are decidedly in favour of an economic under-
standing with America,” he said. “With all countries, but especially
with America.”

After Litvinov had, on Lenin’s instructions, sent a letter to Presi-
dent Woodrow Wilson from Stockholm, the Soviet government took
one more step towards contacts with the United States: Ludwig
Martens, a Russian in New York, was sent credentials appointing

226

him official representative of the Soviet Land in the USA, and
authorising him to negotiate with the U. S. administration.

A veteran Russian revolutionary, formerly member of the
St. Petersburg League of Struggle for the Emancipation of the W'orking
Class, Martens had emigrated to the United States long before the
October Revolution. He had many friends there, and did his best to
carry out his instructions: saw statesmen and industrialists, lawyers
and congressmen, and addressed the working class of America. In
March 1919, Martens handed a memorandum to the U.S. Department
of State. “I have been authorised by my government,” Martens wrote,
“to negotiate the earliest possible renewal of trade relations mutually
profitable to Russia and America.”

In vain. There was no answer. He began publishing a magazine,
Soviet Russia, which printed Lenin’s articles and the decrees of the
Soviet government. The magazine was banned, and Martens was
summoned to court. He hid out with friends in Washington.

An official letter came from the Foreign Commissariat, containing
advice and instructions. A postscript by Litvinov said: “Hold your
head high, friend. Things will look up. The future is with us. We’ll be
stronger, and things will hum.”

The case against Martens w-as inspired by quarters who supplied
arms and money to Russian counter-revolutionaries. But the crushing
defeat that the Red Army inflicted on the domestic counter-revolu-
tion and the foreign intervention troops, had a sobering effect on
Europe, and made America take notice, too. Still, the United States
maintained its non-recognition policy. The top echelon refused to
understand what had happened in Russia. All information about the
Revolution came from the U.S. Ambassador at the Tsar’s court,
David Francis, a banker and certainly not the most perceptive of
American diplomats. While Lloyd George, who had never been in
Russia, thought in all earnest that Kharkov was the name of some
Russian general, Francis, who was in Petrograd, ought to have known
better. Yet he reported to Washington that the Bolsheviks were
“killing everybody wearing a white collar, every educated person,
everyone who was not a Bolshevik”.

The Wilson administration was dismayed by the fact that millions
of Americans were admirers of the new state in Russia. Emigre revolu-
tionaries from Russia, who were in the United States during the war
and had close contacts with the American labour movement, helped
spread the truth about Soviet Russia.

In November 1919, John Reed briefed Lenin on the communist
movement in America. The course of the Russian Revolution, the
consolidation of the Soviets, and, lastly, the October Revolution and

227

the spread of the communist doctrine across Europe, he wrote, had
fostered a movement for a revision of aims and tactics. Certainly, he
added, the Russian comrades in America were strongly conscious of
the revolution that had begun in Europe. They and members of other
socialist federations that had people of Russian origin, were propa-
gating new principles, tactics, and organisational methods.

America’s ruling class still hoped that the Bolsheviks would col-
lapse. In the latter half of the twenties, the papers carried sensational
reports. In Russia, everybody was free to steal, starve, kill and die,
said a headline in November 1925. Another report said Siberia was
trying to shake off Moscow's headmanship. The papers wrote Russia
was selling its treasures to save the Soviet regime. Reports in 1926
said the Soviets were in bad trouble, and troops in Odessa had muti-
nied. In 1927, there was a report that Russia’s industry was on the
brink of collapse.

At the height of one more anti-Soviet campaign, a disastrous eco-
nomic crisis broke out in the capitalist world. It spread to all count-
ries and all areas of production, but the most crushing blow fell upon
the richest of the capitalist countries, the United States of America.
Seventeen million people lost their jobs. Slums appeared all round the
cities. The Americans called them Hoover towns after their President,
who was promising to cope W'ith the crisis.

But Hoover was helpless. And the crisis made America’s business
world look more realistically at the Soviet Union. Businessmen,
economists, scholars, and political observers headed for Moscow. In
June 1929, public leader and journalist Allen Johnson, who had been
in Moscow before, came to the Soviet capital again. A series of well-
meaning articles in U.S. newspapers and journals followed. He had
spoken to Mikhail Kalinin 58 about the state of Soviet agriculture and
the possibilities of a Soviet-American rapprochement, with Valerian
Kuibyshev 59 about Soviet industry, and with Anastas Mikoyan about
Soviet-American commercial relations.

Interest in the Soviet Union grew by leaps and bounds, especially
among U.S. intellectuals. The small but intrepid Communist Party
of the USA was winning followers. Writers, especially Theodore
Dreiser with his American Tragedy , were hastening America’s politi-
cal awakening. Letters from workers and farmers, writers and busi-
nessmen, streamed to the Soviet Union. Mostly, to one of the two
following addresses: Central Executive Committee Chairman Mikhail
Kalinin, and Foreign Commissar Maxim Litvinov. Some were naive,
some clear-sighted— but that was America in its diversity. The letter-
writers said they were calling on their government to recognise the
Soviet Union.

228

A Robley D. Stevens of Pennsylvania wrote to Kalinin that he had
a soft spot for the Soviet Union and would be flattered if, after the
USSR is recognised, he were appointed honorary Soviet consul in
Philadelphia. He promised to perform his duties honestly, and asked
Kalinin to send him an autographed photo. His brother wrote that
he had graduated from Annapolis Naval Academy and generously
offered his services as naval consultant. Novelist Glenn W. Blodget
wrote that he was doing his best to disseminate the truth about So-
viet Russia. He, too, asked Kalinin for an autograph which, he ampli-
fied, would be a welcome addition to his collection of three, those of
Leo Tolstoy, Maxim Gorky, and Maxim Litvinov.

Unfailingly, replies were sent to all writers. Litvinov settled the
autograph problem very simply: he sent autographs only to congress-
men, government officials, and children. He had special cards made,
and placed his signature either on top, or diagonally on the left, so
that it could not be used for improper purposes.

The letters reflected the prevailing sentiment among Americans.
The awakening also applied to the ruling echelon. A representative
delegation headed by Senator Millard E. Tydings arrived in Moscow
in June 1929. It stayed at Hotel National. Alexander Chumak of the
Foreign Commissariat was their guide and interpreter. In his younger
years, he had lived in the United States with his father, had attended
college there, knew the language, and the specific features of the
country. When Chumak came to the hotel, Tydings said, “There’s
been no rebellion in the two days we’ve been here.” This was a sar-
castic reference to the U.S. press, which carried daily items about
hunger and insurrection in the Soviet capital.

The Senators were received by Alexei Rykov, Chairman of the
Council of People’s Commissars, Valerian Kuibyshev, Chairman of
the Economic Council, Anastas Mikoyan, Foreign Trade Commissar,
and Foreign Affairs Commissar Maxim Litvinov. Senator Franck
L. Fay held talks with Rudzutak, Tansport Commissar, about a con-
cession for building a railway car plant. He was told, however, that
no export of currency would be allowed. Then Fay suggested building
a shoe factory, and promised to put shoes on the feet of every Russian.
He was politely turned down.

It became clear to the Americans that the time of concessions in
Russia was over. Russia wanted mutually profitable trade. They said
they wanted to see the country, particularly the Crimea, the Caucasus,
and a few other places. The Foreign Commissariat organised a journey
across the Soviet Union, and the Senators set out, with Alexander
Chumak as their guide.

They flew a little K-4 plane to Mineralniye Vody in the Northern

229

Caucasus. That took all day. Out of the portholes they looked down
on the vast collective-farm fields and the industrial building sites.
Industriously they took notes.

From Mineralniye Vody, this time in a bigger plane, they flew to
Baku along the shore of the Caspian Sea. Beneath them were the
boundless Caspian steppes. The Senators were in raptures about the
incredibly vast spaces. Among other things, they asked the pilot
to show them his flying skills. The pilot did what he was asked.
They enjoyed it tremendously, and said Soviet Russia, too, had good
pilots.

After Baku, the guests were taken to the holiday resorts on the
Black Sea coast-Gagry, Sochi, Batumi, and Sukhumi. They also vi-
sited Tbilisi, then went on to the Crimea, where they saw Yalta and
Sevastopol. On returning to Moscow, they were again received by
Litvinov. They said they were delighted, but would be still more de-
lighted if they were granted concessions. Litvinov informed them
that the Soviet Union was no longer granting concessions, but was
willing to do mutually beneficial business. It was high time, he added,
that the USA recognised the Soviet Union.

One more envoy, the famous Hugh Cooper, the man who had
built the Grand Coulee Dam, came to Russia in November 1929.
lie came as consultant to the Dnieper hydropower project. One of
his aims was to see what the Russians could do. Official America
respected his opinion.

Cooper, a jolly little man, was received by Litvinov. He created a
good impression. Litvinov asked him about the political situation and
the prevailing mood in the United States. It was an informal amicable
conversation. Everything seemed to have been settled. Still, Cooper
would not leave. Clearly, there was something on his mind.

“If there is anything more 1 can do for you, Mr. Cooper, don’t
hesitate to ask.”

Slightly embarrased, Cooper said:

“I’ve been shown the Treasury Exhibition, and was tremendously
impressed. That cigarette case with sapphires and a diamond in the
middle— it had belonged to a Russian Count. Mr. Litvinov, if I do my
job well, could I ask for it as a gift?”

Litvinov chuckled. This was not for him to decide, he said. He
would tell the government. “I can only promise you I’ll back your
request.”

When Cooper’s job was done, he was decorated with the Order
of Lenin, the highest Soviet award, and was also given the cigarette
case he had asked for.

Gradually, contacts expanded. America was getting to know So-

230

viet Russia. It showed sympathy and respect. No longer was it possible
to hush up Soviet successes.

In 1932, the journal Nation reported that the first four years of
the Soviet five-year plan had seen truly remarkable results. The So-
viet Union had laboured with wartime dedication. The face of the
country was changing. This applied to Moscow with its hundreds of
newly-paved streets, its new squares and buildings, its new suburbs
and belt of new factories in the outskirts. 'Ihis also applied to the
less important cities. New towns were springing up in the steppelands
and deserts— not just a few, at least fifty, with populations of 50,000
to 250,000. All this occurred in four years. Each new town was set
round one or more new enterprises built to develop local natural re-
sources. Hundreds of small power stations and a string of gigantic
ones, like the Dnieper Hydropower Station, had gone up to make
Lenin’s formula come true: Communism is Soviet power plus the
electrification of the whole country. Russia had begun thinking in
terms of machines. It was stepping from the wooden age into the age
of iron, steel, concrete, and engines.

So much for Nation’s commentary.

At the end of April 1932, U.S. journalist Ralph Barnes, whom offi-
cial and business quarters in the United States trusted implicitly, put
a number of questions to Joseph Stalin.

Barnes indicated there was interested talk in the United States of
sending an unofficial American trade representative to Moscow, ac-
companied by a staff of experts, to explore the possibilities of closer
trade ties between the two countries. He asked what the attitude of
the Soviet government would be.

Stalin told Barnes that the USSR welcomed trade representatives
and experts of countries that had normal relations with the USSR.
The Soviet government would look favourably on such a move by the
United States.

Barnes questioned Stalin more closely as to the kind of orders
American firms could place in Russia. Stalin gave no figures but said
that the volume of orders could be increased several times over.
Then Barnes came to the question that interested the U.S. ruling
circles most of all. It was felt in the United States, he said, that both
the Soviet and U.S. governments had the same reaction to the recent
events in the Far East, and that, in general, the gap between Soviet
and American policies had grown narrower.

Stalin replied that it was very' difficult to grasp the essence of U.S.
Far Eastern policy. As for the USSR, it would continue to follow its
policy of peace.

Barnes emphasised the similarities between the United States and

231

the Soviet Union, the good will of the American and Soviet people,
and asked if it were possible to convince both peoples that a military
conflict between the two countries should never occur.

Stalin replied that there was nothing simpler than convincing the
peoples of both countries that mutual annihilation is harmful and
criminal. Unfortunately, he added, questions of war and peace are not
always decided by the people. The Soviet people and their govern-
ment hoped that no military conflict between the two countries
would ever occur.

It was May 1932. The world was on the brink of political ca-
taclysms. Many had predicted them. Especially one man, a man who
always followed events with keen insight, who analysed them and
drew conclusions— Georgy Chicherin.

He lived in a quiet Moscow street, in a house that had once be-
longed to a banker. One night, he invited his former secretary, Boris
Korotkin, to come and see him.

“You know, Boris,” Chicherin said, “the time has come to pack
my things and move.”

“Why?”

“This house will soon be the American Embassy.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve no diplomatic relations with
the United States.”

“Not yet. But we’ll have them soon.”

On the following day, Korotkin told Kalinin of what Chicherin
had said.

“Chicherin’s right,” Kalinin replied. “And his house will go to the
American Embassy. But he need not worry, we’ll take care of him.”

An American trade delegation came to Moscow soon after the de-
parture of journalist Ralph Barnes. The businessmen made the rounds
of the city. They saw old Okhotny Riad with its squat little houses.
They saw peasants in crude garb, and women carrying underfed
children, outside the building where Kalinin had his reception-room.
The Americans asked hundreds of questions. They wanted to know
everything, and to see the factories that were being built. They looked
in amazement at the work force— yesterday’s peasants who were
pushing carts with soil from the foundation pits. They asked about
building machinery, and were told there was none so far.

The delegation was received most cordially. But no hasty conclu-
sions were drawn about its intentions. The Foreign Commissariat
gave a reception in its honour.

Upon the delegation’s return to the United States, the Foreign

232

Affairs Committee of the House of Representatives drafted this re-
solution:

Whereas all reports from all reliable unprejudiced sources ...
clearly show that the Soviet Government is stable; and

Whereas all nations have recognised and have established diplo-
matic and commercial relations with the Soviet Government of
Russia; and

Whereas the Soviet Government of Russia on innumerable oc-
casions has expressed the desire to re-establish friendly relations
with the United States; and

Whereas due to the delay in bringing about a friendly relation-
ship between the United States and the Soviet Government of
Russia, the citizens of the United States have been deprived of be-
neficial commercial intercourse, which has been taken advantage of
by the governments and peoples of other countries. Therefore be it
Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the
United States of America assembled.

That the President of the United States be, and is hereby
requested to direct the Secretary of State to enter into negotiations
with the Soviet Government of Russia so as to re-establish friendly
and diplomatic relations between the United States and Russia.

Thus did the predictions of the Bolshevik regime’s imminent
collapse turn into an acknowledgement of Soviet successes. But the
man in the White House was still Herbert Hoover, and the resolution
was blocked.

In 1933, President Roosevelt moved into the White House. He was
fifty, scion of a wealthy family, and had taken up politics at a fairly
young age. At 28 he was in the New York State Senate, and Assistant
Secretary of the Navy from 1913 to 1920. In 1929, he was Governor
of New York State, and a leader of the Democratic Party.

Some said he was endowed with the finest human virtues, others
accused him of all mortal sins. He was revered and he was hated. But
when he died, he was mourned not only by his countrymen, but
by people all over the world.

William Foster, Chairman of the CPUSA, wrote that President
Roosevelt, a prosperous man, represented the liberal part of the capi-
talist class. He was a convinced defender of capitalism, and designed
all his policies to safeguard it. Roosevelt’s enemies called him a So-
cialist, but the charge was ludicrous. Roosevelt was merely trying to
save capitalism by eliminating some of its more intolerable faults.
He was certainly opposed to everything that could weaken the econo-

233

mic and political power of big business. His breadth of vision and
sound approach to the crucial issues of world politics placed Roosevelt
among the outstanding political figures of the 20th century.

The aftermaths of the economic crisis were still felt in the latter
half of 1933. And Roosevelt saw that only one country had escaped
the savage chaos that had precipitated a wave of suicides, a crime
wave, despair, and fear of the future. No, he had no sympathy for
the Soviet system. But he took a close look at the country which
had managed to evade the economic disasters. He saw that the Soviet
Union was busy building, that it wanted no war, that it needed
credits, goods, and specialists. Establishment of diplomatic relations
with the Soviet Union would, Roosevelt felt, boost trade and help
reduce unemployment, and win him the acclaim of most Americans.

In the autumn, the matter came up in the Senate. Out of the 96
Senators, only two were against.

On October 10, Roosevelt published his message to Kalinin, offer-
ing to resume diplomatic relations. Roosevelt wrote:

Since the beginning of my Administration, 1 have contemplated
the desirability of an effort to end the present abnormal relations
between the hundred and twenty-five million people of the United
States and the hundred and sixty million people of Russia.

It is most regrettable that these great peoples, between whom
a happy tradition of friendship existed for more than a century
to their mutual advantage, should now be without a practical
method of communicating directly with each other. The difficul-
ties that have created this anomalous situation are serious but not,
in my opinion, insoluble and difficulties between great nations
can be removed only by frank, friendly conversations. If you arc of
similar mind I should be glad to receive any representatives you
may designate to explore with me personally all questions outstand-
ing between our countries. Participation in such a discussion
would, of course, not commit either nation to any future course of
action, but would indicate a sincere desire to reach a satisfactory
solution of the problems involved. It is my hope that such conver-
sations might result in good to the people of both our countries.

The Soviet newspapers printed Roosevelt’s message on October
21, along with Mikhail Kalinin’s reply:

I have received your message of October tenth. 1 have always
considered most abnormal and regrettable a situation wherein,
during the past sixteen years two great Republics— the United

234

States of America and the Union ot Soviet Socialist Republics
have lacked the usual methods of communication and have been
deprived of the benefits which such communication could give.

I am glad to note that you have also reached the same conclusion.

There is no doubt that difficulties, present or arising, between
two countries can be solved only when direct relations exist
between them; and that, on the other hand, they have no chance
for solution in the absence of such relations. I take the liberty to
express the opinion that the abnormal situation to which you cor-
rectly refer in your message, is having a bad effect not only on
the interests of the two. States concerned, but also on the gene-
ral international situation, increasing the element of unrest, compli-
cating the process of consolidating world peace, and encouraging

forces that tend to disturb that peace.

In accordance with the above, I gladly accept your proposal to
send to the United States a representative of the Soviet Govern-
ment to discuss with you the questions of interest to our countries.
The Soviet Government will be represented by Mr. M. M. Litvinov,
People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, who will come to Washing-
ton at a time to be mutually agreed upon.

A few days later, the President of the United States cabled that he
would be pleased to receive the Soviet diplomat early in November.
Litvinov lost no time. He would go via Warsaw, Berlin, and Paris, and
board an ocean liner in Lc Havre. En route, he would have two meet-
ings. One of them, exceedingly unpleasant. Izvestia and TASS corres-
pondents Lily Kait and Ivan Bespalov, who were to cover the Georgy
Dimitrov trial in Leipzig, had been arrested in Berlin. Gestapo thugs
had smashed up their offices. Litvinov was going to speak about it with
von Ncurath, then the Nazi Foreign Minister. And in Paris, Litvinov
meant to speak to Joseph Paul-Boncour, the French Foreign Minister,
on European security. He also wanted to sound out the French about
the Soviet Union’s impending admission to the League of Nations.

There were many other big and small concerns. The circumstan-
tial and pertinacious Litvinov did not forget a personal gift to the
President. Upon learning that Roosevelt collected stamps, he took
along an album of all the stamps that had appeared in the Soviet
Union since the Revolution.

On October 27, Litvinov and his companions left Moscow for
Washington. At Wilhelmstrasse in the German capital, Litvinov warned
that the Soviet government would take counter-measures if the
Izvestia and TASS correspondents were not released immediately.
A few hours later, the Soviet journalists were free.

235

In the seven days at sea, Litvinov rested. He put receptions, meet-
ings, and negotiations out of his mind. He arranged a chess tourna-
ment, beat Divilkovsky, and was very pleased with himself.

How often had he wished he could shed the eternal guardedness,
and go off to the hills somewhere, or roam about in the woods. Never
in all his life had he had a chance to think of himself. In the evenings
at home, he would now and then spread a map of the world on the
dinner table, and take his son on a long journey.

“How about Zanzibar tonight,” he would say. They sailed across
the Black Sea, through the strairs, across the Sea of Marmara and the
Red Sea, caught fish in the Bab el Mandeb Strait, and made friends
with local African tribes. Then, they crashed their way through the
jungle along the Amazon, or wandered about the rocky paths of Si-
cily. Every once in a while, the husky buzz of the telephone would
interrupt their journey. Litvinov would rush to his study to answer
the call, and would then return to the game from that other, complex
and troublous world, shaking off distracting thoughts. “Well, my boy,
let’s go to Stockholm this time. Show me how— from Moscow.”

On one occasion, it is true, he did perform an extraordinary jour-
ney. After a conference in Geneva, he told his “gaurdian angel” he
could take the night off, for he, Litvinov, was going to the hotel.
Then he told the driver to go the other way, across the hills, to Italy.

The inevitable happened: on the border the Italians stopped him.
He had no visa. The border guards held counsel, gathered a bunch of
Alpine flowers, and gave them to Litvinov. They saluted, and said the
Signor Minister was free to proceed.

He drove about the roads of Italy for three days, stopping at
taverns, drinking beer, eating his favourite lentil dishes, calling at
mountain hamlets, and going to the movies.

When the press learned of Litvinov’s going to Washington to ne-
gotiate with President Roosevelt, it described the news as the biggest
in years. The U.S. papers carried surveys of Soviet foreign policy and
Soviet economy, studies of Russian and Soviet history, and thumb-
nail portraits of Soviet statesmen. Quite a few of the items concerned
the person of Maxim Litvinov.

Back in October, a group of leading U.S. foreign correspondents
had set out for Europe, and among them Walter Duranty, ace news-
man of the 1930s and 40s. Along with other correspondents who had
gathered in Le Havre, they booked tickets on the Berengaria in order
to accompany the Soviet diplomat on his trip to the United States.

Usually, Litvinov saw foreign journalists quite willingly. He spoke
to them of the Soviet Union’s foreign policy and its specific demar-

236

ches, but was always aware that an incautious word was liable to be
perverted. Seeing that the forthcoming talks in Washington were an
occasion that called for extreme caution, he decided this time to avoid
the press.

Walter Duranty had met Litvinov many times before— in Geneva,
Moscow, and other centres of European politics, and knew of Litvi-
nov’s strength of character— if Litvinov said no, nothing could make
him change his mind. So he tried acting through Umansky and Divil-
kovsky. But both of them refused to help. He then dicidcd to appeal
to Litvinov directly. He watched for him after dark on the upper
deck, and when the Foreign Commissar emerged for his daily stroll,
asked him to grant the press corps a short talk. Litvinov said he pre-
ferred to do it upon arrival in the USA. But Duranty had a trump
up his sleeve. He handed Litvinov an invitation card to a lunch the
journalists were holding in his honour. And Litvinov accepted.

The lunch turned into an improvised press conference. The ocean
was relatively calm. The waves rolled amiably along the iron hull of
the Berengaria. Everyone was gathered round a long oval table in the
salon. Duranty proved to be a connoisseur of the Russian cuisine.
There was Russian meat pie, Russian chicken rissoles, and a few more
Russian dishes. After the meal, Litvinov answered the journalists’
questions:

Q. “Mr. Commissar, could you say something about the outcome
of your mission?”

A. “That’s a question I’d rather answer jointly with President
Roosevelt. It is my hope that the United States has the same interest
in establishing diplomatic relations as the Soviet Union.”

Q. “What does your country think of Japan’s behaviour in the
Far East?”

A. “The Soviet Union is firmly opposed to any aggression. That is
the key to its attitude towards the events in Manchuria.”

Q. “Will the Soviet Union join the League of Nations?”

A. “If it’s invited to join, I presume it will.”

Q. “Is it true, Mr. Commissar, that you eliminated the governor-
general when you escaped from a Kiev prison in 1917?”

A. “To begin with, I escaped from the Kiev prison in 1903, not
1917. The escape was organised by a group of imprisoned followers
of Lenin with aid from outside. We were farthest from the thought of
what you called eliminating the Kiev governor-general. He was the
one who swore he’d hang us if we were caught.”

Q. “What’ll happen if your talks in Washington fail?”

A. “The Soviet Union will live on as in the preceding sixteen years.
The United States, too, will live on as before. But the absence of nor-

237

mal relations between our countries is damaging to the United States
and to American commerce. Many Americans, especially the business
world, arc aware of it. Nor should we forget our common responsi-
bility for safeguarding world peace.”

The questioning continued. Everyone tried to get in his question.
Duranty and most of his colleagues had ordered radio connections
with their editorial offices. That had cost a pile of money. Umansky
tried to keep matters in hand. He begged them not to speak all at once
and maintain some semblance of order. In vain. They were in a hurry.

“What do you think of Roosevelt? How’s Stalin? They say he’s
ill. What can you say of Soviet-American trade? What can you offer
the USA? Is it true Soviet Russia is willing to sell paintings from the
Hermitage collection in exchange for U.S. machine-tools? If Washing-
ton does recognise the USSR, who’s going to be ambassador?”

Litvinov had an answer for every question. His replies were quiet-
spoken and balanced. A mere hint of a sarcastic smile would appear
on his lips when answering absurd questions. But he answered them,
and the climate at the press conference was increasingly amiable.

When question-time was over, Duranty thanked the Soviet Com-
missar. The attending journalists autographed his invitation card, he
autographed theirs. The voyage was coming to an end. On reaching
the American shore, Litvinov issued a statement to the press:

“I am stepping on to the soil of the great American Republic
deeply aware of the honour of bringing greetings to the American
people from the peoples of the Soviet Union as their official repre-
sentative. 1 am conscious of the fact that, in a sense, I am making the
first breach in the artificial barrier that had for sixteen years hindered
normal intercourse between the peoples of our two countries. The
purpose of my visit is known from the published messages exchanged
by Mr. Roosevelt and Comrade Kalinin. The abnormal situation of
the past sixteen years has been acknowledged by both sides. And they
have set about rectifying it. All of us know that it benefited neither
side, and the sooner it ends, the better for all concerned.”

Answering the questions of the importunate journalists, Litvinov
had dropped a phrase that they immediately picked up. “We can sign
an agreement within half an hour,” he had said. This was certainly
over-optimistic. But the Soviet diplomat felt it was useful, even nec-
essary. It would attune the U.S. public, which was looking forward
to such an agreement, to the desired goal.

As Litvinov was walking up the steps of the White House to meet
Roosevelt at last, special editions of newspapers in New York,
Washington, Chicago, San Francisco, and other cities were announcing
the “historic meeting of Roosevelt and Litvinov that would end the

238

alienation”. The Hearst press maintained that the Soviet diplomat’s
arrival in Washington would make history.

Roosevelt received Litvinov cordially, but with a measure of
restraint. The President’s wife and State Secretary Cordell Hull were
present in the large, bleak, poorly-lit chamber. Roosevelt was seated
in an armchair, his large silver-haired head slightly thrown back.
He went through the motion of rising to greet the guest. Knowing
that Roosevelt could not really stand up, Litvinov strode rapidly
towards him. They shook hands. The President asked about the
voyage, said he was glad to sec a representative of the Soviet Union in
Washington, and politely inquired about Kalinin and his health.
Litvinov said Kalinin was well and had asked to convey his best
wishes to the President...

Ending his short visit, Litvinov handed Roosevelt the gift he had
brought— an album of stamps. Paging through it, Roosevelt did not
bother to contain his pleasure.

On the following day, Pravda described Litvinov’s White House
visit as a “brief act of courtesy”. Though no details were known, it
said, the U.S. press reported that the meeting had been “most cor-
dial”.

A few days later, on November 13, 1933, Ivan Divilkovsky wrote
to his wife in Moscow, describing the events of those days. “In New
York,” his account ran, “the newspapermen’s attack on Litvinov
even before we had disembarked occurred in the usual American
style. We (Umansky and I) were brushed aside, and an indescribable
commotion reigned for nothing less than an hour. This occurred
close to the quarantine island at the entrance to Hudson Bay with
its forbidding port structures. The morning was foggy and there was
a drizzle. We could not yet see New York. Later, when we were being
taken ashore by a steam launch we passed the Statue of Liberty (I
took some good pictures of it) and glimpsed the skyscrapers on the
other side of the bay. But since it was far and the fog was fairly dense,
they created no special impression.”

“From the outset, Litvinov was surrounded by eight plainclothes-
men, each of them the height of a steeple, broad-shouldered, dressed
in the same sports coats, and chewing gum— at least that’s what it
seemed to me for that is what we expect them to do. The press kept
after us on the launch.

“A few journalists managed to get aboard, while the cameramen
of some newsreel company had a launch of their own, which travelled
alongside and blocked our view of the city. Litvinov was being filmed
all the way from the ship to the shore.

“The launch tied up at the landing in the trade docks of Jersey

239

city, a New York suburb. Believe me, each suburb is itself as big
as a bigger than average European town. A special train was waiting '
at the docks. It set out for Washington as soon as it managed to pull
out of the girdle formed by an army of newspapermen. Some photog-
raphers had even scrambled on to the roof of the cars. The treat-
ment was typically American. The photographers rushed at Litvinov,
shook his hand, crowded round him, yelled, wanted him to take off
his hat, to smile for them, to bow, to speak, and so on. Hereabouts,
as we saw later, everybody obeys them, even top-ranking officials.

“By that time, we had seen only glimpses of New York— the out-
lines of a few skyscrapers and the suburbs that the train went through.

All of them grey, squat, nondescript. But amidst all this, amidst
the shabby little houses, the lines of drying laundry, and the empty
lots, there rose to the skies objects of incredible hugeness: factories,
bridges, oil tanks, automobile ramps, and an endless succession of
railway stations. Nothing fundamentally new, as it were, nothing
extraordinary for the European’s vision, but everything inflated, exag-
gerated, set up in large numbers crudely, hastily, carelessly, unat-
tractively, but certainly on solid ground, and what is more, with
obvious signs of wealth. It is quite clear that in this country people
have lots of money, which they spend unsparingly, handsomely, in
the American style.

“And in Washington, when we arrived, the commotion was still
greater: photographers everywhere, the crowds that came to meet
us, and the drive through the city with an escort of motorcycles
instead of the erstwhile cavalry. Then, hard work. We haven’t seen
the city yet. Went out for a short walk just twice.

“We’re staying at Skvirsky’s: he let us have three rooms— his own,
the office, and the library. That’s where we eat, too, and where we
work. We go out on official business only— to the State Department,
and the like. The old man spends all day at sittings in the State De-
partment or in the White House (with the President). I usually come
along to the State Department, but we’ve all only once been in the
White House at the gala luncheon. However, that’s no subject for a
letter.

“Initially, Skvirsky’s house was surrounded by an incredible
number of policemen— not as an honour guard, but to protect us, for
there had been rumours of someone wanting to kill us. One white
emigre had even been arrested. But that was in New York. Now, at
our request, the force has been considerably reduced. But there is’
still at least one man who comes along wherever we go, and there’s
also a man in Skvirsky’s hall downstairs. He’s very useful— for he
helps us send telegrams, and the like.”

The basic points of the Soviet position at the talks with the U.S.
government had been defined back in Moscow. It was obvious that
Roosevelt’s administration was not ready to come to terms on all
desired points. Those who did not want the Soviet Union recognised
were not wasting time. They were doing their worst to hold up the
negotiations. Back on May 27, 1933, Robert F. Kelley, Chief of the
State Department’s Division of Eastern European Affairs, had drawn
up a memorandum for Roosevelt, saying there should be three condi-
tions that the Soviet Union must fulfil: pay the Tsar’s debts, pay
compensation for U.S. property nationalised after the Revolution,
and, lastly, halt all revolutionary propaganda.

The Soviet Union could neither pay the Tsar’s debts nor the price
of the property of U.S. capitalists. Besides, it had material counter-
claims in connection with the U.S. armed intervention in Russia.

No one but Roosevelt could settle the matter of claims and coun-
ter-claims. He was the kind of perceptive statesman who looked far
into the future, who saw, indeed, that normalisation of relations
with the Soviet Union could no longer be put off.

But, who, Litvinov wondered, would negotiate with him— Cordell
Hull or the President? In the former case, the talks would be sure to
drag out. There was obvious nervous tension in the White House.
Litvinov had felt it the first time he called. Still, it was clear that
everything there was ruled by the will and intellect of the President.
The nervousness, therefore, meant that Roosevelt was barely keeping
control of the enormous machinery of state and contending with
covert and overt resistance.

That resistance was mounting day by day. Looking through the
Washington and New York papers, Litvinov saw that not only the
American opponents of recognising the Soviet Union were active,
but also the large white emigre colony. The counterrevolutionaries
swept out of Russia by the October Revolution who had found ref-
uge in the United States, still hoped that capitalism, if not the mon-
archy, would be restored in Russia. The papers published wild in-
ventions and slander alongside positive reports about the Soviet Union
and its diplomats.

That was the setting in which the Washington negotiations began.

Each morning Litvinov came to either the State Department or
the White House, depending on the pre-arranged programme. Journal-
ists were waiting anxiously at the entrance. State Department offi-
cials and policemen kept the most enterprising ones at bay. Upon
alighting from his limousine, Litvinov would say hello to the journal-
ists, ask them to be patient, and walk to the door smiling.

240

16-01072

241

Roosevelt was taking the measure of the Soviet diplomat with
lively interest. He watched his behaviour and manners, expecting to
spot the special features that most people thought were inherent in
Russian revolutionaries. And was surprised he could not spot them.
A corpulent man, dressed conservatively, quiet-spoken, poised, fluent
in English. Presumably, given his perceptiveness, Roosevelt had
managed during the fortnight of their association to identify and
assess the Soviet Commissar’s inner world and outlook. It came as
no surprise, therefore, that when Litvinov arrived in Washington
again eight years later, their relationship was at once nothing less
than friendly.

The credit for this should go to Litvinov’s strength of character
and force of conviction, to his intellect. For he was one of those
people who could make an enemy respect them. That was something
all the men of Lenin’s mould had in common. A few dozen years ago,
Boris Stomoniakov wrote: “The historians studying our times will
examine the astonishing person and international role of the man
who had grown from a professional revolutionary and undergroundcr
into a distinguished diplomat. They will look for an explanation of
the astonishing transformation and brilliant successes of Comrade
Litvinov on the international scene in his biography and his personal
qualities. And they will find it, because Comrade Litvinov was a richly
endowed and strong personality, a man of extraordinary stature.”

That he was. lie was one of those for whom the revolution was a
university. TIis formal education was confined to a general secondary
school. And as People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, a diplomat of
world renown, he would sometimes say to his friends with a touch of
bitterness that “a man must have a profession, and certainly an edu-
cation, yet I haven’t even a trade”.

And Litvinov was not the only one to say it. One day Krasin ob-
served to his friends, “Who are we, Soviet diplomats? Me — an engineer,
Krestinsky— a schoolteacher! We’re no diplomats!” Yet they held
their own against refined, schooled, and experienced bourgeois diplo-
mats.

Roosevelt, the keen-sighted politician that he was, detected Litvi-
nov’s realism at once. He saw him as a deeply convinced man repre-
senting a new world he, Roosevelt, knew nothing about. It was a
world that Litvinov cherished and would promote and safeguard.

The U.S. President liked that. Litvinov was a worthy partner.
Roosevelt therefore took the negotiations into his own hands. This
was neither simple nor safe. Smalltown America was up in arms
against the President’s negotiating with the Bolsheviks. Even Roose-
velt’s mother was used to prevent him from establishing diplomatic

242

relations with the Soviet Union. All America knew Roosevelt was
fond of his mother, while Eleanor, his wife, did not get along with
her. An attempt was made, too, to win the assistance of the Pres-
ident’s wife.

The day Roosevelt first took over the negotiations, Eleanor ap-
peared in the President’s study unexpectedly for Litvinov. She said,
“Franklin, why don’t you tell your mother about your talks with
Mr. Litvinov? Fancy her waking up one morning and learning that
diplomatic relations had been established with Soviet Russia. Have
you thought how she’d take it? She’ll probably be shocked.”

“What of it,” Roosevelt replied. “It won’t do her any harm.”

On the first day, State Secretary Hull had set forth the American
claims, named the figures of all the loans granted to Kerensky ’s-Rus-
sian government-so-and-so-many millions of dollars and the date,
so-many-more dollars and the date, etc.

Litvinov remarked that he could add to that list. The credits that
had been granted to Kerensky had also been spent on arming Yude-
nich and his counter-revolutionary army, Wrangel and other tsarist
generals. This financing of the counter-revolution had caused incal-
culable suffering to the Russian people. More, it had been contrary to
the wishes of the American people. That was easy to prove. He,
Litvinov, was sure that if the present administration had ruled Ameri-
ca at that time, Kerensky and the tsarist generals would have received
nothing. How could one expect the Russian people to pay for the
guns and rifles that were used against them? That would be contrary
to common sense, and comparable to making the Americans repay
Britain what the latter had spent fighting against the American colo-
nies in the War of Independence. By the way, he added, during that
war forward-looking Russians were on the side of the Americans. Even
Catherine II spoke of her sympathy for the Americans. Interesting
documents on that score were available in the archive of the tsarist
Foreign Affairs Ministry.

Litvinov was careful to weigh every word. Roosevelt listened with
interest, glancing at Hull now and then, and seeing that the latter
obviously treated Litvinov’s words as Red propaganda.

After a long-drawn-out discussion of the first point, seeing that
Litvinov would not budge since that point had been settled in Mos-
cow, Roosevelt suggested going on to the second item, and observed
that they could return to the first later.

Hull tendered Litvinov a list of claims of U.S. investors whose
property had been nationalised in Russia after the Revolution. He said
the U. S. government insisted on compensation.

This item was discussed to and fro for several days. Litvinov said

243

the Soviet government had a counter-claim: during the Civil War in
Russia, the United States had sent an expeditionary corps to Siberia
under General Graves. The damage the Americans inflicted, was
considerably greater than what the Americans lost in Russia. Hull
reminded Litvinov that the corps under Graves was withdrawn. Lit-
vinov saw fit to specify: the corps was compelled to withdraw, for
Graves saw the intervention was in vain.

The next item on the agenda was easier. They dealt with it more
quickly. Roosevelt said the Soviet Union must refrain from any in-
terference in the internal affairs of the United States. He also asked
Litvinov if Americans at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow would be
guaranteed freedom of conscience— to go to church or synagogue,
depending on their religion.

Litvinov introduced Roosevelt to the substance of the Soviet
Constitution, cited its various articles guaranteeing freedom of con-
science, and said all embassies accredited in Moscow made use of that
freedom.

Cordell Hull was captious. After Litvinov had certified in writing
that U.S. diplomats were guaranteed freedom of religious worship,
he demanded that Americans should also be allowed to own or rent
premises for religious services. Litvinov objected. He said Americans
would not have privileges of that sort. He would not accept anything
that went against the interests of the Soviet Union.

Shortly before concluding the talks, Roosevelt announced that he
would appoint William Bullitt U.S. Ambassador to Moscow.

After his 1919 Moscow visit, Bullitt had been passing himself off as
an advocate of rapprochement with Soviet Russia. Roosevelt thought
he was a fitting candidate. But Moscow knew all too well what the
U. S. diplomat stood for.

Bullitt, who was present at the talks in the White House, was in
high spirits. He said he planned a short visit to Moscow in late Novem-
ber.

“Tell me, Mr. Litvinov, what’s the highest place in Moscow?”

“The Sparrow Hills— you see all of Moscow from there.”

“Splendid. Then that’s where we’ll build our embassy building.
1 have a plan, it’ll be a copy of George Washington’s house.”

Litvinov said with restraint:

“I’ll be happy to sec you in Moscow. We’ll have to work very hard
to shape friendly relations for the good of our two nations.”

The remaining few days abounded in talks and negotiations. Not
all the particulars have been preserved in archives. There must have
been snags and details that we will never know about, for all of the
participants in the main talks have long since left this world. But par-

244

ticulars, after all, are no more than vignettes in the frame that holds
the canvas. The end result was what mattered.

Litvinov had added to Roosevelt’s conviction that there was
nothing more important for the two countries than recognising each
other. Roosevelt knew he could not fail to recognise the Soviet Union.
The long and assiduous talks, all the work involved, culminated in
the writing of two short letters, one signed by the President, the other
by the Soviet diplomat.

Roosevelt wrote:

My dear Mr. Litvinov,

1 am very happy to inform you that as a result of our conversa-
tions, the Government of the United States has decided to establish
normal diplomatic relations with the Government of the USSR
and to exchange ambassadors.

1 trust that the relations now established between our peoples
may forever remain normal and friendly and that our nations
henceforth may cooperate for their mutual benefit and for the
preservation of world peace.

On the instructions of the Soviet government, Litvinov handed
Roosevelt the answer:

My dear Mr. President,

I am very happy to inform you, that the Government of the
USSR is ready to establish normal diplomatic relations with the
Government of the USA and to exchange ambassadors.

I also trust that the relations now established between our
peoples may forever remain normal and friendly and that our na-
tions henceforth may cooperate for their mutual benefit and for
the preservation of world peace.

Roosevelt shook Litvinov’s hand, and said a few gracious words
about the Soviet Land and its diplomats. Litvinov replied in kind.
Then they continued the talks, discussing particulars of the future
relationship, the functions of the U.S. Embassy in Moscow and the
Soviet Embassy in Washington. They spoke of the future trade
between their countries, and, certainly, of the world situation and
the events in Germany. Roosevelt was obviously reluctant to devote
more attention to Germany than other countries, but Litvinov kept
raising the matter again and again, stressing that Hitler Germany
was the tensest of all flashpoints in the world, and that if that seat
of the war danger was not checked, the world would be plunged

245

into war and the United States would hardly be able to stay out
of it.

Public opinion experts, the U.S. President observed, estimated
that 92 per cent of the world population were against war and only 8
per cent wanted it. Litvinov replied it was wrong to count the popula-
tion of countries whose leaders were hatching war in those eight per
cent. The war was being prepared by a handful of criminals, and if
they were not stopped, the conflagration would be sure to engulf
the whole world, the USA included.

During one of the last few conversations, the Americans arranged
telephone connections with Moscow. Roosevelt asked Litvinov to
be the first to open the Washington-Moscow line. Litvinov spoke from
a downstairs White House phone.

At the Central Telegraph in Moscow, too, arrangements were
being made. When they learned Litvinov would speak, his family was
speedily informed. At Roosevelt’s request, the Soviet diplomat’s
wife was called to the telephone.

The technical services in Washington and Moscow did their best
for audibility to be good. But as often happened in those days, the
users asked each other several times, “Can you hear me? Can you
hear me?”

The conversation, which was in English, was recorded and broad-
cast over the radio, and has come down to us as one more reminder of
those now far distant days:

Commissar Litvinov: Hello!

Ivy Litvinov: IIcllo darling! Hello, hello! I hear you beautifully.
How are you?

Commissar Litvinov: Please speak slowly, will you?

Ivy Litvinov: Yes.

Commissar Litvinov: I am now in the White House.

Ivy Litvinov: Yes, I know.

Commissar Litvinov: I have just been talking to the President,
and his last words were to give you his regards.

Ivy Litvinov: Thank you very much.

Commissar Litvinov: Mr. Skvirsky sends you his regards.

Ivy Litvinov: Thank you very much.

Commissar Litvinov: Everybody here is very sorry you did not
come with me.

Ivy Litvinov: Oh!

Commissar Litvinov: Also President and Madame Roosevelt express
their regrets that you did not accompany me.

Ivy Litvinov: That is verv kind of them.

ill

246

Commissar Litvinov: I am sorry, too.

Ivy Litvinov: Ah! I hope to come another time.

Commissar Litvinov: How are you?

Ivy Litvinov: Very well. How arc you?

Commissar Litvinov: And the children?

Ivy Litvinov: Very well. Misha is also here and would like to
speak a word to you.

Commissar Litvinov: Hello, .Misha.

Misha: Hello.

Commissar Litvinov: How are your studies?

Misha: Very well.

Commissar Litvinov: Misha, Misha, can you hear me?

Misha: Yes, I can.

Commissar Litvinov: Arc you all right?

Misha: Yes.

Commissar Litvinov: How are your studies?

Misha: They are very right.

Commissar Litvinov: Is Tania with you?

Misha: No.

Commissar Litvinov: And Tania?

Misha; No, only I and Mama. IIow are you, Papa?

Commissar Litvinov: I shall be here another week.

Misha: How is your toothache?

Commissar Litvinov (laughing): It is all right.

Ivy Litvinov: Misha has just come from school and wanted to
speak to you. Tania is still at school and could not come. Are you
there?

Commissar Litvinov: Yes.

Ivy Litvinov: And is everyone in good spirits?

Commissar Litvinov: Yes. What kind of weather are you having?
Ivy Litvinov: Beautiful clean snow, lovely snow. We can’t
believe it possible. What time are you having? Ten o’clock, isn’t
it?

A thunderstorm raged somewhere in the ocean. Regretfully,
Litvinov put down the phone. He went upstairs to see Roosevelt.
The President was leaning back in his wheelchair. He asked how the
talk had gone. Litvinov said audibility had been splendid. Roosevelt
smiled and said, “Mr. Litvinov, such a talk is your best propaganda.
When Americans learn that the Bolshevik Commissar has a wife and
children, that he’s a family man, they’ll respect both the Commissar
and his land.”

During Litvinov’s conversation with the President, a State Depart-

247

(II

ment official brought the keys to the building of the old Russian
Embassy, which the tsarist government had once bought from U.S.
millionaire George M. Pullman. When Litvinov took the keys, Roose-
velt smiled and congratulated him.

Accompanied by Jessica Smith, an employee of the Soviet Infor-
mation Centre, Litvinov and Skvirsky set out for the embassy build-
ing. It was in a sorry state. The “ambassador” of the Provisional
Government, Bakhmetyev, had vacated it only a short time before.
The building looked dead. The marble floors were chipped, with little
pools of stagnant water in the depressions. Frayed old curtains hung
on the windows and doors. Cobwebs were everywhere. Litvinov stood
silently, surveying the scene. After a while, he asked Jessica Smith
for the name of some leading U.S. architect, who should be commis-
sioned to restore order on the embassy premises, and make them
cheerful and sunny.

Despite frantic efforts of the foes of the negotiations, marked by
malicious exercises of the yellow press, thousands of people expressed
their liking for the Soviet Union. Letters and cables arrived in a
stream. People gathered beside the White House and in the street
where Litvinov had his residence. They came to Skvirsky’s house to
shake hands with the Soviet diplomat and send greetings to the Rus-
sian workers. Many asked for autographs.

Amusing little incidents occurred. One day a dentist came. He
was born in Russia. He had heard Litvinov on the radio: it seemed
that he lisped.

“I’ll make a new set of teeth for you,” he said. “They’ll make your
speech perfect. And since we’re countrymen. I’ll do it free of charge.”

Litvinov had by then grown accustomed to the most unlikely
requests and offers. Some were from the realm of fantasy, designed
to improve the world. Others... Well, once, when Litvinov was leaving
for Switzerland, he had received a letter from a Moscow watchmaker.
“Since you’re going to the country of clocks and watches,” the letter
said, “bring back some spare parts for me. I’ll look after all your
watches free for the rest of your life.”

Litvinov never failed to answer letters, requests, and offers. To the
author of a fantastic plan of rearranging the world he explained the
futility of his designs. To the Moscow watchmaker, he brought back
the desired spares. Neither did he wish to offend the Washington
dentist, and declined his offer most politely.

After exchanging letters with Roosevelt, Litvinov spoke at the
National Press Club to representatives of America’s major newspapers

248

and agencies. The American papers called it the largest press confe-
rence of the decade.

The Soviet diplomat made a statement on his negotiations with
the President. He said the peoples of the Soviet Union would receive
the news of the resumption of diplomatic relations with sincere
pleasure and stressed that possibilities were now opening for truly
friendly relations and peaceful cooperation between the world’s
two largest republics. All honest and peace-loving people, all who were
against ill-will, suspicion, hostility, and other abnormalities would
be pleased.

The newsmen applauded, then fired questions, which Litvinov
answered calmly and amiably.

“How will the establishment of diplomatic relations between
America and the Soviet Union affect the Third International?”

“The Third International is not mentioned in the documents,”
Litvinov countered. “One should not ascribe to documents what
they do not contain.”

“Aren’t the Russians spreading propaganda in the United States of
America?”

“I would ask the journalist who put that question, in the presence
of all, to give me the addresses of the Soviet citizens who are spread-
ing Soviet propaganda in the United States.”

The hall rang with applause.

On November 23, the Soviet diplomat completed all his affairs
in Washington. The parting with Roosevelt was friendly. The President
made Litvinov a gift: a portable radio set, which was a rarity in those
days. He said he hoped they’d see each other again. Neither Roose-
velt nor Litvinov could know then, of course, that the world would
be engulfed in war eight years later.

On November 24, a banquet was held for the Soviet Commissar
in New York. He had had no chance to see the city when he disem-
barked there after the Atlantic crossing. Now, he intended to make
up for it and go sightseeing with Divilkovsky. They visited the 102-
storey Empire State Building, went up to the observation platform,
but kept the impressions that magnificent piece of engineering made
on them to themselves until they had descended.

“I wonder whether the plumbing will still work if there’s a revolu-
tion in America, and whether people living in the upper storeys will
have to climb the stairs since the lift is forever on the blink?” Litvi-
nov jested.

Time and again, he had spoken crossly of the clumsy ways of
Soviet managers, and of their inability to use the enormous possi-

249

bilities of the revolution. Their astonishing ability to turn every trifle
into a big problem angered him immensely.

The banquet, held under the auspices of the American-Russian
Trade Chamber, was in the afternoon. All people who mattered did
their best to come. All nationalities inhabiting the giant city were
represented. It was an all-American vanity fair. There, Litvinov would
deliver his last speech of the visit. Litvinov— agent of Lenin’s Iskra,
gun-runner, professional Russian revolutionary who had seen the in-
side of prisons in several countries, one of those who had helped
tear down capitalism in Russia, now a recognised diplomat, was to
say what he thought of the state of world affairs. He delivered his
speech in English, off the cuff, addressing the large, many-faced
audience as a spokesman of the new world confident of its future.

He mentioned his talks with the President.

“Somehow,” he said, “neither of us was in a hurry to conclude. 1
think we both felt the approach of the moment when mutual obli-
gations would be accepted, and were trying to utilize the remaining
period of freedom to conduct a little propaganda between ourselves.
The President appealed to me with something like religious propa-
ganda. Although we were hardly able to convert each other, 1 liked
the President’s method of discussing problems. I never doubted the
results. From the moment the President characterised the absence
of mutual relations as not normal, I was sure he would do all he could
to remedy matters.

“The upheavals produced by the World War in the political, econom-
ic, and social order of the capitalist world, continue to exert their
deleterious influence.

“Preparations for new wars are being made in the open. Not only
has the enemy resumed and accelerated the arms race, but what is
probably even worse, the rising generation is being trained in a spirit
that idealises war.

“Typical of such militarist education is the medieval quasi-scientif-
ic theory that one nation is superior to others and has the right
to rule over and even exterminate them. Songs, music, literature,
science- all this is made to serve the militarist conditioning of the
youth.”

The Soviet diplomat spoke of the failure of the disarmament
conference, of the continued dwindling of world trade and the
millions of unemployed, then rapped out to the silent hall: “All this
gives us little hope of an improvement in the economic situation.
Against this dismal background mv land stands out like a ray of
light.”

Litvinov told the American businessmen how the Soviet Union
had secured its industrial, technical, and scientific progress, how it
built up its culture, its health services, and how it had fought illite-
racy. He spoke for a long time. And the New York millionaires lis-
tened with rapt attention.

Litvinov sailed for Europe on board the swift Italian ship, Conte di
Savoia. In honour of the Soviet diplomat and his country, the liner
hoisted a red flag.

From early morning a huge crowd had gathered. Litvinov, accom-
panied by U.S. policemen, made his way with some difficulty to the
gangplank and went on deck. Thousands of people waved goodbye
to him. “Long live Soviet Russia!” people shouted on all sides. Also
on deck were Postmaster General James A. Farley, who was going on
a vacation to Europe on the same ship, and diplomats from Washing-
ton who had come to see Litvinov off.

Litvinov walked up to the microphone. He thanked the gathering
for the warm farewell and its affection for his country. The attending
newspapermen wanted him to give a final press conference. Litvi-
nov said curtly he was pleased with his visit to America.

At last, it was five minutes past twelve. Majestically, the Conte
di Savoia steamed out of the harbour.

The New York Sun reported that owing to the commotion created
by Litvinov’s departure, the crowd had ignored Postmaster General
James A. Farley and other officials. They were forgotten, except by
the policemen.

The Atlantic Ocean was restless, with a leaden winter sky over-
head. On the fifth day, the voyagers saw the Azores outlined on the
horizon, then passed through the Strait of Gibraltar.

The events of those days, and what had happened in New York
and during the Atlantic crossing, were described by Divilkovsky in a
letter to his wife:

"I wrote this letter on board the Conte di Savoia in sight of the
Azores, and will post it in Gibraltar. The 29th of November, 1933.

“To be sure, neither the date nor the place of writing arc precise.
It is now 7 p.m., November 29, in New York, approximately mid-
night where we are now, and 3 a.m., November 30, in Moscow. As
for the place where we are, we did not really see the Azores— just a
dim outline and lighthouses far to the south. We’ll reach Gibraltar
tomorrow night. At the moment, we are some 300 miles southeast
of Portugal. I’ve figured out, by the way, that I have never been so
far south before. I can only regret that I’ll not get to see the Southern
Cross.

250

251

“Sent you a couple of postcards from New York, where we spent
two nights and a day. On the first night, we inspected the new Rock-
feller Radio City, a huge conglomeration of skyscrapers, radio sta-
tions, and cinemas. It contains the world’s largest cinema seating
6,000, which was full at that moment. We were taken up and down
the enormous building, and then shown newsreels of ourselves. We
had no time to see the feature film to the end. It was Little Women
by Louisa Alcott, which you must have read as a child. The second
night we were at the new Waldorf-Astoria (65 storeys high), where
1,600 people feted Litvinov at a gala dinner. They played the Ameri-
can national anthem and then the Internationale. I’m sure that the
Waldorf-Astoria heard it for the first time, and most of the guests
probably did not know what it was. Litvinov made a fine speech.

“During our one day in New York we went sightseeing. Litvinov
managed to sec quite a lot, but I had time only for a spell at the
television salon, and then climbed to the top of the Empire State
Building, which is taller than the Eiffel Tower. Mailed a postcard to
you from there. There was a fog below, and we saw nothing. Skvirsky
and I went off to buy me a suitcase, and then shopping. But the
shopping led to nothing, for the main ingredient, money, was lacking.

“Speaking of money: the man on my right at the banquet table on
Friday night was the board chairman of Chase National, the world’s
biggest bank. He is a man of about 45, a hundred per cent American,
and has been doing business with us for a long time, though he knows
as little about our country as a trained seal from Franz Josef Land.
He asked me the most monstrous questions, and in the end wanted
to know how much I earned. I told him. How many dollars did that
make? I said two hundred. He said with a smirk he received ten
thousand. I wanted to say I wouldn’t change places with him anyway,
but didn’t. Then he asked what sort of apartment we had, and asked
about my wife and children, and servants. I answered all his questions.
He showed an interest in you, said fyis wife was the same age, and
that they had the same number of cWiWren. He questioned me about
you, about your life, and your clothes. I answered all his questions
patiently, while he kept begging my pardon for being so, inquisitive.
Finally, on getting all the information he wanted, he 5aid he hoped
I would not be offended if he did something nice for my wife. The
owner of New York’s biggest department store, he said, was a member
of his board. He would introduce me to him tomorrow morning if
1 let him. At the department store, he said, I could pick the best and
the most expensive things for my wife. Chase Bank would foot the
bill.

“We had conversed in English up to then, but here I addressed

252

his other neighbour, a member of the Amtorg Board, Rosenstcin, and
asked him to interpret for me. Then 1 said my wife would be most
grateful if the gentleman contributed any extra money he had on her
behalf to some fund in aid of New York’s unemployed. Rosenstein
did as he was asked, and the subject was closed. In the end, saying
good-bye, he mumbled something about my flash of wit. The unem-
ployed, he said, would get nothing in your name, and I am sure, you
would not be sorry for spurning his offer.

“The following morning, a Saturday, we toured downtown New
York in a car (though, I must say, we didn’t see more than a hundredth
of the city), dropped in at Amtorg, where we had a quick meeting,
and then set out for the ship in the company of a State Department
official. Again crowds of people, journalists, cameramen— and again
a lot of shouting, a lot of applause, and an indescribable fuss. To tell
the truth, this whole visit has been a triumph for Litvinov (i. e., the
USSR).

“This is the fifth day of our voyage. Tomorrow, a Thursday, I’ll
mail this letter from Gibraltar, and on Saturday noon (December the
2nd) we’ll be in Naples, and that evening in Rome. Hope to find
letters from you in Rome. We’ll probably be in Berlin on the 7th and
8th, and in Moscow on the 10th.

“The voyage has been good again, without the slightest hint of
any rolling or pitching. I’m evidently not fated to have a taste of it.
The weather is so warm we’re keeping all the portholes open, and
have discarded blankets for the night. To think there’s deep snow at
home!

“The ship is huge, one of the latest ( Conte di Savoia was built in
Trieste in 1932), with lots of new gimmicks, including gyrostabili-
sers, a device that keeps the ship steady by counteracting its rolling
motion from side to side. The finish of the various first-class salons
is the peak of luxury and Italian bad taste— marble, gilding, paintings,
statues, and the like. Clean and uncrowded in the second and third
class, which I didn’t expect. True, passengers number less than half
the rated capacity. Need I say that I enjoy the Italian cuisine, with
a predilection for spaghetti of all varieties, even with a bit of slightly
diluted Chianti. It’s a forgivable luxury, for, in general, I behave very
modestly when abroad.

“I don’t want to make the letter too long, and, besides, it wouldn’t
be right to describe our life in a letter, but there is an episode I can’t
help telling you about. While on our way to America, we had many
amusing encounters. A sp'orts champion approached Umansky once,
and offered to buy a monopoly on whisky imports to Russia. But the
funniest episode involved me personally. (By the way, did 1 write you

253

that Umansky stayed on in Washington with an acute influenza com-
plication, and that Litvinov and I are travelling alone, not counting
the accompanying journalists?) I received a note from the purser that
a Hungarian newspaperwoman, travelling second class, wished to see
me. I stated the time when I’d receive her. She turned out to be a
heavily made-up- young woman of about twenty-two, with pencil-line
eyebrows. She showed credentials from some doubtful Hungarian
periodical, and explained that, in effect, she wasn’t a real journalist
yet. If she managed to get an interview with Litvinov, she added, her
career would be made. 1 said I was sorry but there could be no inter-
view. Then she said she was immensely interested in my country, and
asked me to devote some time to her, so she could question me about
it. I refused an appointment. All the same, she came after lunch
and began firing questions, such, for example, as whether women
in the Soviet Union all wore the same dresses. Then she declared
Europe and America were not to her taste, and she wanted a visa to
settle in the USSR. I explained in the plainest of terms that the last
thing we needed was her presence. Whereupon she stated that she’d
marry some engineer going to Russia, and asked me in the same
breath for my Moscow address, and if she could see me in Rome. I
said 1 was no engineer, and no bachelor, and took to my heels. That
night she came to the dance, and kept leering at me, so that once
more I had to seek safety in flight. It is, of course, possible that she
was a decoy, and so forth. But I rather think she was simply a fool.”

A few days later, Divilkovsky wrote a postcard aboard ship:

“December 1, 193 3. Approaching Naples. We’ll berth tomorrow.
The weather has changed: no sun, and a choppy sea. The Mediterra-
nean isn’t what it usually is. Pity we won’t see Naples beneath a blue
sky.”

Litvinov made a short stopover in Naples to see the ruins of Pom-
peii, and also visited Sorrento. In Rome, at the Palazzo di Venezia,
he had a talk with Mussolini. There were banquets and speeches.

Little Austria flashed by, and they arrived in Berlin, with Gestapo
men all over the station platform. People from the Soviet Embassy
brought the latest papers, and Litvinov had an opportunity to sec
what the reaction to his Washington mission had been in various
capitals.

The U.S. press, which gave the talks and their results wide coverage,
was conflicting in tenor. The isolationist papers belittled the So-
viet diplomatic success, and censured Roosevelt for having let Litvi-
nov “twist him round his little finger”. But most of the reactions were
sound. Walter Duranty, who described the agreement as a “Yankee
horse trade”, admitted that Litvinov was “a pretty shrewd trader

254

himself”. One should not forget, Duranty wrote, that the blood
of Dutch traders and New England businessmen flowed in Roosevelt’s
veins, while Litvinov belonged to a race that had always been famous
in commerce. “To sum up,” Duranty wrote, “I should say Litvinov
is returning home with a pretty fat Christmas turkey.”

Papers in Paris, London, Stockholm, Tokyo, Warsaw, Madrid, and
elsewhere, spoke of a Soviet diplomatic breakthrough. Many papers
tried to analyse the event. Nobody could tell then, of course, that the
talks had laid the foundation for the wartime anti-Nazi coalition.
But it was clear that the document signed in Washington was no pe-
destrian instrument, and represented a major historic advance. For the
Soviet Union, everybody admitted, it was yet another considerable
achievement.

Even Nazi journalists admitted the enormous success scored by
Soviet diplomacy. The Big Business newspaper, Frankfurter Zeitung,
wrote: “The Soviet Union has torn down the last of the barriers that
had surrounded it.”

On December 9, Litvinov was back in Moscow. His colleagues
of the Foreign Commissariat, foreign diplomats, and journalists, had
come to the railway station to meet him. The day’s Pravda had a
front-page cartoon depicting a smiling Litvinov with a briefcase
inscribed, “Soviet policy of peace”, and next to him a rueful mili-
tarist beside a gun.

The 4th session of the Central Executive Committee opened two
days before New Year’s Eve 1934. On the opening day, Kalinin gave
the floor to the Commissar for Foreign Affairs. He was met with a
rousing ovation, and spoke for a long time: a full hour. It was one
of the most important speeches in his diplomatic career. He described
the prevailing world situation, and explained why the United States
had recognised the Soviet Union.

“For fifteen years,” he said, “the USA was the only major power
that stubbornly refused to have formal relations with the Soviet
Union, and, indeed, to admit that it existed. It refused to recognise
the October Revolution and the changes it generated in the Soviet
Union. In its eyes, there was still Kerensky’s Provisional Government,
with whose agents it had official intercourse until just recently. It
was obstinate. But not because its points of disagreement with us were
greater than those of other countries, or because it had suffered more
from our revolutionary legislation. In substance, it only continued the
war that the capitalist world had declared against the new, Soviet
system after the October Revolution. It was a war against the peaceful
coexistence of the two systems. Seeing the other capitalist countries
abandon the battlefield one after another, America seemed to say:

255

I understand, you’re weak, you’re tottering, you’re suffering losses
and have to give up, while I am strong enough to fight on alone. It
stuck to its guns for fifteen years, until it, too, abandoned the struggle.
That is why, comrades, my exchange of letters with President Roose-
velt on November 16 should be seen as something more than mere
recognition by one more great power. It is the collapse of the last
frontier, the last front, in the capitalist world’s offensive against us
in the form of non-recognition and boycott.”

Litvinov was no public speaker. Had he lived in Rome two thou-
sand years ago, he would not have attracted more than a handful of
listeners in the square outside the Forum. He did not arouse people
by the timbre or modulation of his voice, but reached them by his
unassailable logic, the power of his convictions. He reached into the
hearts and minds of his audience, marshalling attention, trust, and
respect.

He spoke for a long time more-of the processes that were going
on in capitalist society. He said that the era of bourgeois pacifism was
over, that the capitalist world was again preparing for war, and that
the war was being started by Hitler Germany and imperial Japan.
The breaches of peace would be directed above all against the Soviet
Union, and the army and people should be told about it.

That was on December 29, 1933. The sixteenth year of Soviet
power was ending.

In early January 1934, Stalin questioned Litvinov about his mis-
sion in Washington. Litvinov gave him a detailed account of his talks
with President Roosevelt and other American statesmen, and, among
other things, of the opportunities for trading with the United States.
This last aroused Stalin’s special interest.

After their conversation, Stalin invited Litvinov to henceforth use
the government dacha in Firsanovka, near Moscow.* It had been
Stalin’s dacha and would now be at Litvinov’s disposal. This was
obviously meant to let Litvinov know of Stalin’s faith in him.

When spring came Litvinov did make use of the dacha in Firsa-
novka.

In 19 87, I was invited to the dacha (Russian for countryhouse) in Firsanov-
ka. I was there twice. The estate manager asked me if I could write its history,
for the local people still called the dacha Litvinovka —Author.

Chapter 9

THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS

Litvinov plunged into the pile of work that had accumulated dur-
ing his absence. Among the many papers, he found a cable from
Alexandra Kollontai, the Soviet ambassadress in Stockholm. She
congratulated him on the success of the Washington talks, and asked
for help in resolving some official problems. On December 20, 1933,
Litvinov sent her a friendly letter.

“Dear Alexandra,” he wrote. “I’m up to my neck in work. Our
diplomatic efforts are only just beginning. Never before were they as
important as they arc now. Besides, I have Bullitt on my back, and
have to devote much attention to him: he considers himself more
than a mere ambassador, but also my personal friend. Thanks for
the congratulations.”

Litvinov’s observation that diplomatic work was only just begin-
ning, was really a hyperbole. Soviet diplomacy had by then scored
many a victory. Yet there was sense in what he said. Hitler’s Nazism
had slithered onto the world arena. Germany kept making louder
and louder noises about wanting to “replay” the war. True, the
military alliance that would soon come into the world as the Berlin-
Rome-Tokyo axis, was not yet in sight. But the experienced eye of
a diplomat could already discern its possible emergence.

The 17th Congress of the Communist Party was to open at the end
of January 1934 in Moscow. The preparations for it were at their
height. Litvinov was elected delegate to the Party Conference of
Moscow’s Dzerzhinsky District, and then to the all-Moscow Confer-
ence. Here he was elected delegate to the Party Congress, which
eventually elected him member of the Party’s Central Committee.

Litvinov spoke about the congress at a meeting of Party activists
of the Foreign Commissariat.

Never before did the Soviet diplomatic service face as complicat-
ed a task as it did now: that of holding back the ferocious pressures
of Hitler Germany. To do so, it set out to create instruments of in-
ternational security. It was important for the Soviet Union to be ad-
mitted to the League of Nations. That international organisation

17-01072 ^57

created at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919-20, had begun to play a
visible role in the life of nations. Ruling the roost there were France
and Britain, lhis made the League obviously anti-Soviet.

But Hitler s appearance on the world scene forced many bourgeois
politicians to look at the Soviet Union with a less jaundiced eye.
Hitler’s diplomats, meanwhile, set about destroying the League of
Nations. 1 hey were bent on disposing of it even though it was a weak
obstacle to aggression. German diplomats of the old school were re-
called. Nadolny, who had represented Germany at the Disarmament
Conference and was then appointed Ambassador to Moscow, was,
m effect, retired. Robert Ley, head of the Nazi Labour Front, came
from Berlin to take his seat at the International Labour Office.

The eternally drunk Nazi began his diplomatic career by beating
up the doorman of the Palace of Nations, and by taking charge of
Nadolny s car, saying to its dumbfounded driver, in so many words,
that he could tell Ambassador Nadolny to kiss his ass.

S.S. Gruppenfuhrer Reinhard Hcydrich, later the butcher of Prague
eliminated by Czech patriots in 1942, was another German diplo-
matic representative in Geneva, serving as expert on paramilitary orga-
nisations. &

In the spring of 1933, Japan withdrew from the League, and Ger-
many followed suit in autumn. The Japanese government and Hitler
thought the League of Nations would fall to pieces after their with-
drawal. In their secret diplomatic chancelleries and general staffs,
a new war was already being hatched. Yet criminal complacency
reigned in the League of Nations. Baron Wolfgang Cans Putlitz, a Ger-
man diplomat, wrote: “A peculiar atmosphere of something artificial
and unreal reigned in Geneva. The cosmopolitan vanity fair, a centre
of intrigue, was a strange contrast to the background in which it was
set, the old city of Calvin with its Swiss bourgeois Gemiitlichkeit
and its rigidly sober puritan morals... Diplomats and delegates from
all over the world relished its atmosphere, especially during the warm
season, and behaved as they would at a first-class holiday resort. Ex-
cellencies and other dignitaries from all countries of the world came
to the boulevard beside the lake, and one observed scenes reminiscent
of a Vienna comic opera. They asked each other about the health of
their spouses, the results of the latest obesity cure, exchanged informa-
tion about wines and the culinary expertise of restaurateurs in Paris or
Karlsbad, and discussed the latest scandal in Cannes or San Sebastian.
Each and everyone of them most delicately avoided any serious
subject that might in the slightest be unpleasant to the other.”

At this time, the Soviet Union, which had repeatedly censured
the League of Nations for its inactivity, decided to back it up, to

258

breathe new life into it, to make it work for peace. It was a move of
flexible diplomacy, a dialectical act suiting the world situation.

At the end of May 1934, Litvinov addressed the General Commis-
sion of the Disarmament Conference in Geneva. The Soviet diplomat’s
speech, which contained a clear peace programme, elicited a worlwide
response. The weekly Journal de Nation wrote that nothing could de-
monstrate the far-reaching evolution of European politics more
clearly than the impatience with which Litvinov’s speech was awaited.
The Disarmament Conference and public opinion were counting
on the Soviet delegation to help find a way out of the impasse. The
article described Litvinov’s speech as an act of the utmost courtesy,
and said it was like a maiden speech at the League of Nations. The
League of Nations, it said, could now declare, Dignus est entrare.

Indeed, the League had a much bigger stake in having the Soviet
Union buttress it by its authority than the Soviet Union had in becom-
ing its member.

Under the League’s Covenant, any country wishing to join was to
apply for admission, answer the questions of the League, and promise
to abide by its Covenant. The application then went to the Political
Commission, which decided if the country deserved to be admitted.
At least two-thirds of the member-countries should be for, or the ap-
plication was turned down.

The Soviet Union was not ready to follow this procedure. If it
were turned down, Soviet prestige would suffer. It still had many ene-
mies, and they were strong. In the circumstances, Soviet diplomacy
had to show the maximum flexibility and inventiveness.

Many Western statesmen were aware that the League’s authori-
ty had to be shored up. This applied above all to Louis Barthou,
the French Foreign Minister, and Eduard Benes, his Czechoslovak
colleague.

Litvinov had met Benes and Barthou before 1934. He knew he
could count on the Foreign Minister of the Slav country. Though in-
consistent in his views, Benes was deeply aware of the Nazi peril to
Czechoslovakia. The relationship with Barthou was less clear. He had
played a most negative role in Genoa. His anti-Soviet manoeuvres had
then helped to isolate the Soviet Republic politically. But the times
had changed, and with them the outlook. After 1933, Barthou be-
came one of the most consistent advocates of rapprochement with the
Soviet Union. Litvinov saw that Barthou would be glad to buttress
the League of Nations, to save it from collapse. Small wonder that the
Nazi secret service organised the assassination of Barthou by foreign
mercenaries some time later. He was shot to death in Marseilles togeth-
er with King Alexander I of Yugoslavia.

259

Litvinov did not mince words in telling Barthou and BeneS about
the Soviet position:

“We are not going to beg the League of Nations to admit us. If
you think it’ll help strengthen the League, you’ll have to do the

yOUrSeIveS ‘ Let thc Ica g ue ask the Soviet Union to join
We 11 be glad to.” J

I he League of Nations had 51 members. Any country wanting to
join the League had to have at least two-thirds of its members, or 34
countries, vote for it. Among those who were against admitting the
Soviet Union were Switzerland, Portugal, thc Argentine, the Nether-
lands, and Belgium. How serious their arguments were may be judged
rom the utterances of, say, the Argentine spokesman. During the
1917 events in Petrograd, thieves had stolen two suitcases from the
t lrd secretary of the Argentine Embassy. The diplomat complained
to the Soviet authorities. But the suitcases were not found. He was in
a rage So now, at the League of Nations, his countryman declared he
would vote against admitting thc Soviet Union, because it did not
protect private property.

Benes and Barthou spoke to diplomats of other countries. Diffi-
culties kept arising in various quarters. The government of Finland,
which was then anti-Soviet, said it would vote against thc admission
of thc Soviet Union. The Soviet envoy in Helsinki, Boris Stein, was gi-
ven instructions to protest and say “the Finns arc hiding a rock in
1 cir bosom”. Stein must have said it more euphemistically. Krestin-
sky, then deputising for Litvinov in Moscow, sent instructions to pass
on the Soviet opinion verbatim, to give the Finns to understand
that thc phrase, “hiding a rock in their bosom”, came from the
top leadership. He asked the envoy to let him know how the Finns
took it. The Soviet demarche helped. The Finns withdrew their
objections.

On September 15, 1934, thirty League of Nations delegates cabled
an invitation for thc Soviet Union to join the international body and
contribute its valuable cooperation”. The delegates of another four
countries made clear through usual diplomatic channels that they
would vote for admitting the Soviet Union. On the same day the
Sov.et government replied in a letter to the chairman of the League
Assembly that the Soviet Union was always open to any proposals for
international cooperation in thc interest of peace. On September 18, a
three-man Soviet delegation (Maxim Litvinov, Vladimir Potemkin, the
Soviet envoy in Italy, and Boris Stein, the envoy in Finland) was to go
through the formal procedure of admission.

Litvinov decided that the Soviet delegation should appear in Ge-
neva J ust before the voting. But how to be and not to be in Geneva?

nil

260

A geographical factor helped solve this intricate problem. Geneva,
a Swiss city, is surrounded on three sides by French territory. Only
a narrow strip of land connects it with Switzerland. On the other side
of thc Lake of Geneva is Evian, a French health resort. That was
where Litvinov and Potemkin went. Stein had been given instructions
to go from Helsinki directly to Geneva. A cable caught up with him in
Berlin, suggesting he should not appear in Geneva until September 18.

The situation was complicated by the fact that the Berlin train ar-
rived in Geneva at noon, while the voting in the League of Nations
would take place at 6.00 p.m. Stein was known in Geneva, where he
had attended disarmament conferences as member of the Soviet dele-
gation. So, when journalists, who had recognised him at the Geneva
railway station, came to his hotel, Stein said, “Sorry, Soviet delegate
Stein has not yet arrived.” The dumbfounded journalists retired.

Ivy, Litvinov’s wife, told me what went on in Evian on that day,
September 18.

“Maxim was tense, but disguised it as best he could. His self-
control failed him just once— when Marcel Rosenberg, Soviet charge
d’affaires in France, suddenly appeared in Evian, thinking he might
be useful. Litvinov asked why he had come, for he had not been sum-
moned.

“There were two reasons for this reaction: first, Rosenberg had
come without permission, and, second, Litvinov detested people,
especially diplomats, who wanted to be in the limelight. Rosenberg
was one of them. Shortly before, the Soviet envoy in Paris, Valerian
Dovgalevsky, whom Litvinov was very fond of, had died. Rosenberg,
who became charge d’affaires, sent Litvinov a coded telegram: ‘The
papers here are speculating if I’ll be appointed envoy. Should I deny
the rumours?’ Litvinov’s reply was brief: ‘Not all idiotic rumours must
be denied.’

“Rosenberg was sent packing back to Paris.

“Litvinov looked through the papers, walked up and down thc
room, then suggested going to a picture to kill time. We went to see
some new hit.

“On the way back we dropped in at the Luna Park. Litvinov mum-
bled to himself, ‘I hope Benes does not let us down.’ But when the
time came to leave for Geneva, Litvinov seemed to be his cool self
again.”

Evian was a ten minutes’ drive from Geneva. A car was waiting for
Litvinov outside the hotel. At 5 p.m. sharp the League’s master of
ceremonies was to come to the specified Geneva hotel and invite the
Soviet delegation to the Palace of Nations.

Stein recollected: “On the way from the hotel, the master of ce-

261

rcmonics told us about the ritual of admission. We would enter a
lobby leading directly to the big hall. After the voting, the counters
would announce the result. The chairman would say the Soviet Un-
ion was joining the League of Nations on the basis of such-and-such
paragraph of the Covenant. He would then say he welcomed the ad-
mission of the Soviet Union to the League of Nations, and would
make a speech, ending with the following words: ‘I invite the gen-
tlemen of the Soviet delegation to take their scats in the League of
Nations. That would be the moment the doors opened and the three
Soviet delegates entered the hall.

“We came at the appointed time, were brought to a round lobby,
and led up to the door of the conference hall. The master of cere-
monies was excited and tense, and peered through a crack in the door
into the hall several times. When he had done it once too often, Lit-
vinov walked past him coolly across the hall to his seat. We-Potem-
kin and 1— hurried in his wake. The whole League of Nations was
looking at us. There were friendly nods of welcome. When we took
our seats, the chairman had just finished announcing the results of the
vote, but had not finished his speech. He was not quick enough to
grasp that the final sentence, the invitation for us to enter and take
our scats, was no longer necessary since we had already done so, and
read it out aloud.

“One of the attending journalists jumped at the chance to say the
Bolsheviks had been true to form and barged in before being invited.
But that was only a reflection of the feelings of those who had not
wanted the Soviet Union to join the League. The overwhelming ma-
jority had voted for its admission.

When the admission ceremony was over, Litvinov expressed his-
thanks to the French government, which had been the first to propose
that the League should invite the Soviet Union, said a few heartfelt
words about Barthou, and thanked Benes for his sincere backing. He
then warned he would not pull punches and say why the Soviet Union
was admitted to the League only in its fifteenth year. Those who had
created the League, he said, and who conceived it as a peace instru-
ment, did not want that peace to extend to the new, Soviet, state.
They had prayed for it to collapse. But in vain. The Soviet Union
endured.

Litvinov said the Soviet Union could not accept all the resolutions
of the League of Nations, and considered its Covenant far from per-
fect. He pointed out, among other things, that the 12th and 15th
Articles of the Covenant legalised war in some cases, and that Article
23 did not acknowledge the racial equality of all peoples. He said
the Soviet Union appreciated the idea of nations uniting, because it

262

was itself a league of nations, a country inhabited by 185 nations
and ethnic groups.

Litvinov set forth Lenin’s principles of peaceful coexistence, and
called attention to the dangerous tendencies in world affairs. The
war forces, he said, were preparing a new slaughter. Let no one think,
he added, that the Soviet Union was overestimating the League of
Nations in this complicated situation.

“Gentlemen,” Litvinov said, “I do not overestimate the ability
of the League of Nations to organise peace. I am probably more aware
of its limitations than any of you. I know the League of Nations has
no instruments to abolish wars. But I am convinced that given resolve
and amiable cooperation on the part of all its members, a whole lot
can be done at every given moment to reduce the chances of war.
That is a noble objective, which, if achieved, will yield incalculable
benefits to humanity.”

The Soviet Union’s admission to the League of Nations was wel-
comed all over the world. Letters and cables were evidence that work-
ing people in all countries pinned their hopes of peace on the Soviet
Union.

The secretary of the 16,000-strong organisation of friends of the
Soviet Union in Holland cabled Litvinov that on behalf of the public
in his country and on behalf of mass meetings in Amsterdam, Rotter-
dam, and other cities, his organisation expressed its indignation over
the stand of the Dutch representative who had voted against the
Soviet Union’s admission.

A cable from Zurich: “The Zurich workers send fraternal greetings
to the country fighting for world peace and disarmament. They cen-
sure the warlike posture of the reactionary Swiss government.”

The World Women’s Committee hailed the Soviet Union’s admission
to the League of Nations. “The Soviet Union,” it said, “is the key
factor in the struggle for peace.”

Telegrams came from Bernard Shaw, Heinrich Mann, Albert Ein-
stein, Romania’s Foreign Minister Nicolae Titulescu, Colonel House
and Henry Stimson of the United States, Philip Nocl-Baker, the Brit-
ish public leader, and Edouard Herriot and other French statesmen.

Many of the messages were addressed personally to Litvinov.
One of them is worth citing in full, for it came from that fine Russian
humanist, Nikolai Rubakin, who had earned fame and renown far
outside his country. At that time, he was Director of the International
Institute of Psychology in Lausanne:

“Deeply esteemed Maxim Maximovich, permit me to hail the
Soviet Union’s admission to the League of Nations. As an old Social-
ist and a convinced advocate of world peace, I cannot but welcome

263

this. Not because 1 think the League of Nations is a gate to paradise,
but because I see the invitation as a major victory of the Soviet poli-
cy of peace over the imperialistic policy of the capitalist states.

“The invitation for the Soviet Union to join the League of Na-
tions also shows how much stronger the country building a socialist
culture with the conscious support of the working people has become.

“However great the successes of Soviet foreign policy are in con-
nection with the country’s growing power, I cannot help giving due
credit to your own diplomatic art and your extraordinary political
and historical intuition.

“It is thanks to you, in your office as leader of the Soviet Union’s
foreign policy, that the socialist vision of the world backed powerfully
by the working people of all countries has scored this enormous mor-
al and political victory, representing socialism’s new stage on the
road to a new world.”

Almost immediately after the Soviet Union’s admission to the
League of Nations, its representative was given the post of Deputy
Secretary-General of the League.

At that time, the Soviet Union was the only socialist country in
the world. Two worlds were represented in the Palace of Nations:
fifty-one bourgeois and one socialist state. Besides, technology was a
far cry from what it is now. One could not expect to get immediate
and prompt instructions from one’s government. Mostly, one had to
make one’s own decisions on the spot, without delay.

Henry Roberts, a prominent U.S. historian, wrote of Litvinov that
his stocky non-proletarian frame radiated common sense and work-
manship.

Quite true. Litvinov’s outer appearance could well have been that
of a respectable bourgeois diplomat. Indeed, at one time, Litvinov
had had to explain publicly why a Soviet diplomat should dress well.
In the mid-twenties, people wondered why Soviet diplomats wore
tails to receptions. People wanted to know if Soviet diplomats were
going bourgeois? Litvinov wrote in Vecbervaya Moskva that a Soviet
diplomat dealing with foreign statesmen was compelled to wear
tails— a fact, he added, which did not alter his outlook.

And Litvinov proved it. Bourgeois students of the history of the
League of Nations refer almost unanimously to the forcefulness of
Soviet diplomacy. Nowadays, the long succession of Litvinov’s state-
ments and speeches in the League’s Assembly and Council, and' at
conferences and committee meetings, cannot be read without delight,
writes F.R. Walters. Nothing in the annals of the League could equal
his common sense, frankness, and precise judgement, his justified
criticism and sure-fire foresight.

Litvinov’s appearances in the League of Nations were always a
big event. The foes of the Soviet Union feared him. If a speaker ven-
tured to slander the Soviet Union, Litvinov immediately asked for the
floor. His retort was always pitiless, destroying the speaker with dead-
ly sarcasm and incontrovertible logic. Many siipply would not risk
speaking in his presence, and waited till he happened to be out of
Geneva.

Litvinov’s magic was not, of course, due exclusively to his person-
ality. He was doughty and resolute in face of bourgeois diplomats
because he represented a socialist state whose main purpose on the
international scene was to make peace secure for all nations. And af-
ter the masses had laboured to turn backward Russia into a strong
socialist state, the foundation for the political conceptions of Soviet
diplomacy grew still stronger.

Speaking of Litvinov’s activity in the League of Nations, Anastas
Mikoyan said in a special interview with your author:

“In the League of Nations Litvinov dwarfed the most eminent
bourgeois diplomats. The League was a new phase in our diplomacy.
We were there on an equal footing with the major capitalist states
that had only a short time before refused to recognize us. Litvinov’s
definition of aggression was classic. No one has produced anything
clearer and more precise either before or after Litvinov.”

The five years from 1934 to September 1939, when Hitler Germa-
ny started the Second World War, abounded in dramatic events and
situations that called for mobility, firmness, insight, and the ability
to expose hostile schemes, to manoeuvre and to attack.

In those years, Litvinov spent a lot of time in Geneva. His route
there lay through Berlin. At the Berlin railway station he would be
met by members of the Soviet Embassy and by foreign correspond-
ents. Litvinov jested, smiled, but almost never granted interviews.
Gestapo and SS-men, who were out in force, did not leave the plat-
form until the train pulled out. But when necessary, Litvinov stopped
over in the German capital for official talks.

Since about the end of 1935, Litvinov’s route to Geneva changed.
He travelled via Vienna, sometimes stopping over in Karlovy Vary,
Czechoslovakia, where he conferred with Soviet diplomats from
neighbouring countries.

Litvinov’s way of life in Geneva did not change. True, he stopped
at the Richmond, which became the residence of Soviet diplomats,
rather than the boarding-house he had patronised earlier. As usual,
the evenings were spent drafting the next day’s speeches. Andrew
Rothstcin, a British Communist who was then TASS correspondent

264

265

in Geneva, was usually asked to look at the drafts. Rothstein recol-
lects: Litvinov would ask me to see if there was anything that grated
on my ear, anything 1 thought should be improved, changed or delet-
ed -and to tell him.

Litvinov also had contacts with the doyen of the journalists’
corps in Geneva, a man named Dell, once prominent in the British
labour movement (mentioned in one of Engels’s letters to Sorge)
and editor of the People's Press, a British trade union newspaper.
Dell was a faithful Socialist, and a Soviet sympathiser. Every time he
came to Geneva, Litvinov usually had a long talk with Dell, pumping
him for information about the mood of the other League delegates
and the like.

When he anticipated an especially hard clash the next day, Litvi-
nov would go for a walk in the quiet Geneva streets. On one such
walk he met Bruce Lockhart, the former British agent for whom
he had been exchanged in 1918. They spoke of the weather and the
general climate in Geneva.

“You’d probably like to know, Mr. Litvinov, that the redoubtable
Dzerzhinsky himself interrogated me,” Lockhart said.

“What of it?”

“He treated me like a gentleman.”

1 must say, Brixton Prison left no pleasant memories,” Litvinov
retorted, and added politely, “though to be fair, the other European
prisons I’d know'n were even w'orse.”

The two men parted.

frightful things began to happen. In the early hours of October
3, 1935, Italy fell upon Ethiopia. As in September 1931, when Japan
invaded Manchuria, the League did nothing, aside from recording the
breaching of its Covenant. Then Britain, France, and the United States
had prevailed on China not to declare a state of war with Japan,
saying this would make it easier to negotiate with the Japanese.

Now, with the Soviet Union in the League, this method of appeas-
ing the aggressor would not do. The League was compelled to pass
a resolution that one of its members had breached the Covenant by
starting hostilities against another League member. This automatically
invoked Article 16, which envisaged sanctions against the aggressor.

Ihe Soviet public was outraged by Italy’s aggression, and showed
every sympathy for the distant African state. The newspapers reported
that the Ethiopians were resisting stoutly. Soviet Academician Nikolai
Vavilov, who had spent some months in Ethiopia shortly before the
Italian invasion, covering some 2,000 km and collecting more than
6,000 plant samples, w-rote a series of articles for Izvestia. He conclud-

ed it with the following words: “The Soviet Union says, let free and
independent Ethiopia live on and use its natural wealth as it sees
fit.”

Soviet diplomacy did its utmost to check the aggressor. Britain,
on the other hand, along with the French, wanted Italy to become
more deeply involved in Ethiopia. The sanctions imposed on Italy
were ineffective.

Litvinov spoke thrice on this score in the League of Nations. The
serene atmosphere that reigned in the League was disturbed by the
voice of the representative of the peoples of the Soviet Union. Lit-
vinov addressed the League Council on September 5, 1935:

“I, as well as many of my colleagues, have, in this given instance,
to speak on a question which does not directly concern the interests
of our countries but which, depending on one or other decision, may
have the most dire consequences for the whole of international life,
for the fate of the League of Nations, for the cause of universal peace,
and thus sooner or later, also for our countries.”

The same ideas resounded even more distinctly in Litvinov’s other
speeches. A closer look will show that what he said concerned not
only Ethiopia. He saw farther ahead. He saw the threat of war for all
nations. Diplomatic usage prevented him from referring directly to
Hitler, but Hitler was clearly whom he meant. On September 14,
1935, speaking in the League Assembly, he showed the underlying
causes of aggression, and the League’s reluctance to deal with burning
problems, of which disarmament was the most urgent.

Litvinov used the League to attract world attention to the events
in Africa, and showed they could spread to Europe. He spoke of se-
curity and of those who were undermining it. lie spoke of the regional
pacts that the Soviet Union had concluded and that were shoring up
European security. Addressing the League Assembly, he said, “Such
pacts threaten nobody except potential violators of peace; they injure
nobody’s interests and serve peace and therefore all humanity.”

He also showed there were concepts that went against the idea of
collective security, and non-aggression pacts that were contrary to the
idea of universal peace. “While the non-aggression pacts concluded
by the Soviet Union with its neighbours,” he said, “have a special
provision invalidating them if an act of aggression is committed by
one of the parties against any other state, we know of other pacts
which, not at all accidentally, have no such provision. This means
that countries which safeguard their rear or flank by such a non-
aggression pact are reserving the right to attack some other country
with impunity.”

At that time, few people saw the underlying meaning of those

266

267

words. For their prophetic significance to become clear, humanity
had to live through many a blood-stained ordeal.

Soviet diplomacy used every possible opportunity to prevail on
the League of Nations to cut short the most trivial of conflicts, wher-
ever they occurred. When war erupted between Bolivia and Paraguay
over oil-rich Chaco region in the summer of 1932 (in which the Bo-
livian army was defeated at the end of 1934), Litvinov reacted vigor-
ously at a plenary meeting of the League of Nations. “The distance
that separates us from the war theatre and the relatively small number
of troops involved, he said, “must not lessen its importance in our
eyes. Our decision may have a far-reaching effect on the arbitration
of more serious conflicts. We must remember this. The Soviet delega-
tion insists that the Assembly resolution should be definite and firm
and that the Assembly should also be firm in carrying it into effect.”

Litvinov’s speeches in Geneva and at other international forums
won him widespread popularity. He received letters from workers,
military 7 men, and intellectuals. They asked him to be careful. The
enemy was on the rampage. Vorovsky had been killed. Voikov had
been killed. He, too, might be killed. Litvinov replied that, certainly,
anything could happen, but not to worry. He had more faith in the
power of words, he wrote, than in the power of bullets. The stream of
letters from those who had elected him to the Central Executive Com-
mittee and, later, to the Supreme Soviet, increased. Some writers
asked for his help, others complained to him, an old Bolshevik, of va-
rious breaches of the law.

A young couple wrote they had named their son after the Soviet
diplomat, I.itmir, Lit being an abbreviation of Litvinov, and mir mean-
ing peace. Litvinov wished the infant health and happiness. He knew
the young parents meant well, but was firmly opposed to any hero
worship.

Despite pressure of time, he often saw young people. The Komso-
mols of Moscow’s Dzerzhinsky District had asked him, for example,
how he learned foreign languages. What he told them could be re-
duced to one sentence: “I had lots of free time to study foreign
languages— I did it in jail.”

Young Pioneers of Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, came to Mos-
cow specially to see him. He stood in their midst to pose for the pho-
tographer, wrote them a friendly message, and reminded them of what
Lenin had said about the need for knowledge.

In 1933, the Party Committee of Moscow’s Dzerzhinsky District
asked the Foreign Commissariat to assume stewardship over the col-

268

lective farm in Chudtsevo village, Moscow Region. The Commissariat
sent an experienced Party worker, Semyon Mirny, to see the farm.
What he saw appalled him. The cows were kept from falling by belts
attached to the ceiling of the cowshed. They had not been fed for
days and could not stand on their own. The farmers had not been
rewarded for their work, and everything was in a state of neglect.
Mirny stayed on the collective farm for a few months to re-establish
order. Local Party members stood by him. Under his supervision,
the spring sowing came off well. And for May Day, on Mirny’s advice,
the collective farm sent delegates to see their Moscow stewards.

Litvinov was duly informed that the Chudtsevo farmers had come
to the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. True, he had an ap-
pointment with a foreing ambassador, but got in touch with him and
asked him to come two hours later.

He received the farmers, questioned them about their farm, and
asked if they needed anything. It was clear the farm could not come
out of the doldrums without modern vehicles. Litvinov had a few
of the Commissariat’s lorries transferred to the Chudtsevo farm, and
extended other aid.

At the end of the conversation, the farmers said a recent general
meeting had decided to rename their farm Litvinov Kolkhoz. They
wanted his consent.

Litvinov was dismayed. Here was a problem, possibly the first
in his life, that he could not resolve. The two hours were over. The
secretary came and said the foreign ambassador had arrived. Litvinov
said to tell the visitor he was still busy.

To the collective farmers he said. “Tell your mates they can do
what they w-ant. If they insist, they can use my name.”

Pleased, the collective farmers filed out of Litvinov’s office. As
they walked past the foreign diplomat they bowed and said goodby.

The diplomat asked frigidly, “Was that a diplomatic mission? From
what country?”

The secretary replied, “From kolkhoz country.”

That night, there was a May Day party at the club of the Foreign
Commissariat. The collective farmers, who were guests of honour,
sat on the platform next to Litvinov. When giving them passes to the
military parade in Red Square, he said, “Go and see your country’s
money isn’t wasted.”

In his free time, Litvinov went to the countryhousc in the environs
of Moscow. He liked to walk in the fields, or ski in winter, carrying
out doctor’s orders.

Years ago, he had been seriously ill. Professor Krause, who exam-
ined him in Berlin in 192 3, said he had tachycardia, and had not long

269

to live. Litvinov mumbled that if he had survived a Berlin prison in
1907, he would survive anything.

All the same, Litvinov kept to the prescribed diet, carved out time
for physiotherapy, and worked up a sweat riding a bicycle. Semyon
Budyonny 60 advised him to ride horseback and had a well-behaved
horse assigned to him. Litvinov rode every day for two months,
then stopped. He could not stomach the procedure at the cavalry-
grounds: the commander there would cry out, “Attention!” saluted
him, and said, “Your horse is ready!”

In May 1935 was the 30th anniversary of the Party’s Third Con-
gress. Tatiana Liuvinskaya phoned Litvinov and asked if he remembered
he was chief rapporteur.

“There’ll be a gathering at the Old Bolsheviks Society tomorrow,”
she said. “You will speak of the event as a delegate to the Third Con-
gress. Besides, please say something about the state of international
affairs— a little more than the papers say.”

The following day, punctually at the stated time, Litvinov arrived
at the Old Bolsheviks Society.

“Pleased to see all of you,” he said excitedly to Franz Lengnik,
Yemelyan Yaroslavsky, Fyodor Samoilov, Sophia Smidovich, and
other old friends.

Litvinov told them of his meeting Lenin, and of Lenin’s book,
The Two Tactics, in which Lenin said preparations for an armed uprising
were the chief priority. Litvinov spoke of the Second International,
and said time had not changed its leaders. The sky was overcast, he
said, but they were still deceiving the people. Litvinovalso spoke of the
international scene, saying “a little more than the papers say”.

It was Litvinov’s custom to keep up Soviet prestige, and to behave
with dignity. He detested those who curried favour with foreigners.

On November 8, 1934, George Kennan, then Chief Counsellor
of the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, asked to be received. The man on
duty was Mirny. Kennan said he had come at this unearthly time
(November 7 being a Soviet national holiday) because U.S. Ambas-
sador Bullitt was leaving for the United States and wanted to know
if Commissar Litvinov had anything to pass on to President Roosevelt.

Mirny, who had been with the Foreign Commissariat for years,
knew exactly what he had to do. Though Litvinov happened to be
in his office, he said he had no idea where the Commissar was that
moment. In Kcnnan’s presence, Mirny went through the motions
of calling Litvinov’s home and countryhouse. He was naturally told
that Litvinov was out, which fact he regretfully conveyed to the U.S.
diplomat. Kennan said he would call again at noon.

270

“I said you weren’t in,” Mirny reported to Litvinov.

“Fine.”

“What am I to say when he calls at noon?”

“Tell him it’s our national holiday, and that I’m out. If Bullitt
wants me, he can put off his departure.”

This reply to Bullitt’s messenger may have been prompted by the
fact that people in Moscow were falling over themselves to court
Bullitt.

Stormclouds were gathering again on the political horizon. On
March 16, 1935, Germany denounced the military restrictions of the
Versailles Treaty.

Neither Lenin nor any other Soviet statesman had ever considered
the Versailles Treaty fair. They thought it unfair, and said so time and
again. But when it was breached by Nazi Germany in order to arm
itself, the Soviet Union reacted vigorously. Soviet diplomacy had
warned the West many times of Germany’s behaviour. The warnings
were received in silence or spurned as an exaggeration of Hitler’s role
and ability.

Litvinov said on this score: “I speak on behalf of a country that
had nothing to do with the Versailles Treaty and never concealed
its negative attitude towards that treaty as a whole. But what are
we to do if a country that demands the right to arm itself is led by
men who publicly declare their aims not only of revenge but also of
unrestricted territorial conquest and destruction of the indepen-
dence of country after country.” He said those men, far from disguising
or renouncing their aims, were brainwashing the nation in a warlike
spirit: “What are we to do when a country with that kind of leaders
and with that kind of programme refuses to guarantee ... the security
of its near and far neighbours. After all, such guarantees are given
freely by countries that are beyond suspicion. How can we be blind
to these facts?”

Litvinov’s speeches elicited response far and wide. They called at-
tention to Hitler’s policy, and rallied public opinion to combat
fascism. Years later, Litvinov’s peace efforts in the League were de-
scribed in a postwar publication, The Falsifiers of History :

“Everybody knows of the persevering struggle of the Soviet Union
and its delegation in the League of Nations under Maxim Lit-
vinov to safeguard and strengthen collective security. Throughout
the prewar period, the Soviet delegation in the League fought for the
principle of collective security, raising its voice in defence of that
principle at every session of the League and in nearly all the League
commisssions.”

271

On March 28, Anthony Eden arrived in Moscow on the invita-
tion of the Soviet government. Britain was then occupied appeasing
Hitler Germany, while keeping up appearances as a fighter for peace.
Litvinov stressed the menace of Nazi Germany not only to the Soviet
Union but also the West. He called Eden’s attention to the fact that,
while elaborating on his Drang nach Osten programme, the Nazi
Fiihrer was also nourishing plans against the Western democracies.
“By speaking of eastward expansion,” Litvinov said, “Hitler is tricking
the Western countries into permitting him to arm. After he arms
himself, the guns may begin shooting in an entirely different direction.”

Four years later, the wisdom and foresight of the Soviet diplomat
were borne out: bombs rained on London and other British cities.

The Foreign Commissar gave a dinner in Eden’s honour at his
countryhouse near Moscow. By then, everybody knew Litvinov’s
phrase, “Peace is indivisible”. Diplomats used it, lecturers used it. The
chef at Litvinov’s countryhouse used it too: the butter served for din-
ner was inscribed, “Peace is indivisible”. The cook had earlier inquired
how the phrase was written in English. At table, Eden observed in
jest that the butter was untouchable, touching it would breach the
principle of indivisibility.

Eden’s visit yielded no results. No agreement was reached on
Anglo-Soviet cooperation.

The visits of other statesmen showed conclusively that no inter-
national issue could be resolved without the Soviet Union. The Soviet
Union’s drive for peace, its efforts at international conferences and in
the League of Nations, won it mounting sympathy and gratitude in
all countries. In June 1934, Romania established diplomatic relations
with it. Progressives in France demanded closer relations, and contacts
between the USSR and France increased. A French scientific mission
under Jean Baptiste Perrin came to the USSR in May 1934, followed
by a visit to Moscow of French Air Minister Pierre Cot. A delegation
of Soviet airmen visited France. So did a group of Soviet writers,
the Red Army’s Song and Dance Ensemble, and other entertainers.
Summing up, French historian Maxime Mourin noted in his book,
Les relations franco-sovietiques 1917-1967 , that “all this, along
with the Barthou-I.itvinov negotiations, contributed to the further
public approval in France of a rapprochement between Paris and
Moscow”.

Under public pressure, the French government decided to sign a
Franco-Soviet mutual assistance pact. It was concluded on May 2,
1935, in Paris. Its Article 1 read: “It is equally understood that if
the USSR or France should be subject to the threat or danger of at-
tack by any other European state, France and the Soviet Union shall

272

open mutual consultations at once in order to act in furtherance of
Article 10 of the League of Nations Covenant.”

French Foreign Minister Pierre Laval came to Moscow soon after
the Treaty was concluded. In the three days of his stay, he was re-
ceived by top Soviet leaders. This showed the importance Moscow
attached to Soviet-French relations. Soon, however, Laval’s true at-
titude came to light. Here is what History of Diplomacy , put out some
years ago in the Soviet Union, says on this score:

“Upon leaving Moscow, Laval stopped over in Poland. Here he
explained to Polish Foreign Minister Jozef Beck that the Franco-
Soviet pact was not really aimed at securing Soviet aid or helping the
Soviet Union against any possible aggression, but rather at preventing
a rapprochement between Germany and the Soviet Union.’

For Laval, in fact, the treaty was a tool for a future deal with
Hitler Germany. He told his friend Krumbach in confidence that he
had signed the Franco-Russian pact to have an extra bargaining chip
in negotiating with Berlin.

After the war, as we know, Laval was executed for collaborating
with Hitler. But the treaty he had signed helped the anti-fascist
forces in Europe, notably France, immensely. Also, it helped consoli-
date the Popular Front. A huge meeting at Buffalo Stade in Paris on July
14, 1935, precipitated anti-fascist actions all over the country on an
unprecedented scale. The French Communist Party’s slogan, “Conduct
a policy of peace in close alliance with the USSR , became a national
slogan. The gathering at Buffalo Stade took an oath: “We solemnly
promise unity in order to safeguard democracy, secure disarmament,
dissolve rebel societies, and protect our freedom against fascism.

Under the influence of the Soviet policy of peace and the Franco-
Soviet Treaty, the Popular Front adopted a programme which envis-
aged “international cooperation in the League of Nations framework
to ensure collective security by defining the aggressor and automati-
cally applying joint sanctions in the event of an aggression”. The 7th
paragraph of the programme called for the “introduction, especially
in Eastern and Central Europe, of a system of pacts open to all con-
cerned on the lines of the Franco- Soviet Treaty”.

The French and Soviet press reminded readers of the two great
nations’ traditional friendship. Litvinov wrote a series of editorials in
the Journal de Moscou on friendship with France, but added that the
past should not be forgotten. (He was evidently referring to the fact
that France had recognised the Soviet Union later than other Euro-
pean powers.) He knew Laval and his followers would try to hit back^
Three weeks after Laval’s visit, Moscow 1 received Eduard Benes.
On May 16, in Prague, prior to the visit, the two countries had signed

18-01072

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a mutual assistance treaty. Benes visited Leningrad and Kiev, and also
called at a collective farm in the Ukraine.

By the end of 1935, the results of the Soviet peace effort, essential
if the country wanted to continue the construction of socialism, were
becoming visible.

The mutual assistance pacts with France and Czechoslovakia, the
treaties defining aggression, and other treaties, conventions, and pro-
tocols signed with certain European and Asian countries in 193 3 -all
this was a serious obstacle to Hitler Germany’s aggressive designs. The
establishment of diplomatic relations with the United States laid the
ground for an alliance against Hitler Germany in the event of a Nazi
aggression, and helped strengthen the Soviet Union’s position in the
Far East.

But the Western powers did not renounce their secret plan of
channelling the German threat eastward, against the Soviet Union.
Hatred lor the socialist land befogged the minds of many statesmen.
They continued to undermine collective security in Europe, and en-
couraged the aggressive behaviour of the fascist states.

World opinion was outraged by Italy’s continuing aggression in
Africa. The Soviet Union demanded that the 16th Article of the
League’s Covenant should be applied to Italy. The proposal was adopt-
ed. But those who protected Mussolini remained true to themselves:
the key strategic item, oil, was not listed among the goods that could
not be shipped to Italy. Britain refused to close the Suez Canal, which
was then under its total control, and Italy continued to ship troops
and arms via Suez to Ethiopia. Some time later, Britain and France
secured repeal of the League’s sanctions against fascist Italy.

Litvinov addressed the League of Nations several times, setting
forth Soviet proposals for collective security. One proposal was that
any country which committed aggression against a member of the
League of Nations should be considered at war with all the other
members of the League. A commission was formed to examine the
Soviet proposals. It worked for two years. Deliberate British and
French sabotage prevented their adoption.

Litvinov’s speech in the League of Nations on May 1, 1936, was
described by the world press as most impressive. He said the League’s
reaction to the aggression against Ethiopia w-as one of the saddest
chapters in its history. “We do not need a League safe for aggressors,”
Litvinov said. “Because they are bound to turn it from an instrument
of peace into its opposite.”

In 1936, the epicentre of the approaching storm shifted more and
more in the direction of Hitler Germany. On March 7, Hitler sent his

274

troops into the demilitarised Rhineland. This tore up the Versailles
Treaty and, indeed, the Locarno agreements.

Now, even blind men could see what Germany was out to accom-
plish. Yet European diplomacy continued to encourage the Nazis.
The British started negotiations. They suggested convening the League
Council in London, and inviting Nazi diplomats to it. As a result, the
adopted resolution confined itself to admitting the Nazi violations of
the Versailles and Locarno accords. The Western powers had refused
to qualify Germany’s behaviour as a menace to peace. Though at that
time Hitler could still have been made to retreat. As the world dis-
covered later, commanders of the Wehrmacht divisions that had
entered the Rhineland, had Hitler’s secret orders to withdraw at once
if the French took armed action.

Yet capitalist Europe shrank back, as though mesmerised by a
python. It looked at the aggressor with apathy and a sense of defeat.
The Soviet Union alone was still trying to stop Hitler. But in Geneva,
as before, the distinguished delegates had their morning walks, and
drank apperitifs and exchanged compliments in the lounges of luxury
hotels.

In 1936, steps were taken to buttress the Soviet Union’s position
in the crucial Black Sea region. At that time, relations between the
Soviet Union and Turkey were good. Kemal Atatiirk, founder of the
Turkish Republic, appreciated the selfless Soviet aid to his country
during its armed struggle against the imperialist intervention, and also
later, after it had won independence. In the early 1930s, the Soviet
Union granted Tukey interest-free credits and technical assistance in
building textile mills. It helped Turkey to establish new industries.
The Trukish people responded with affection and gratitude. While
Litvinov went to Washington, another Soviet delegation, headed by
Kliment Voroshilov, 6 1 set out for Turkey. He was elected honorary
citizen of Izmir.

The Soviet Union’s friendship with Turkey annoyed its enemies.
Britain was plotting to drive a wedge between the Soviets and Turks.
Nazi diplomats, too, stepped up their activity. A pro-Western tenden-
cy was gradually taking shape in the Turkish government.

That was the state of affairs when an international conference
opened on the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus in the Swiss town of
Montreux on June 22, 1936. Soviet diplomacy was out to back
Turkey in recovering full sovereignty in the zone of the two straits, to
ensure the interests of the Soviet Union and the other Black Sea
countries, and to have a ceiling established for naval vessels of non-
littoral powers admitted to the Black Sea in peacetime.

275

As usual, Litvinov took along a very small delegation.- the General
Secretary of the Foreign Commissariat, one expert on general affairs,
Anatoly Miller, a man who knew Turkey, and three military experts.
Neither an interpreter nor a secretary. To his mind, aside from the
pertinent subject, a Foreign Commissariat official should know for-
eign languages fluently. But he did take along a stenographer and an
office clerk.

Aside from the Soviet Union and Turkey, the conference was at-
tended by Britain, France, Japan, Bulgaria, Romania, Yugoslavia,
Greece, and even Australia, the latter having been invited by the Bri-
tish. Britain sent its best diplomats, including Sir Alexander Cadogan.
But the heart and soul, and actual leader of the delegation, was Harry
hnes Randall, who was in charge of Eastern affairs in the Foreign Of-
fice. Later, during the Second World War, he headed Britain’s secret
service in the Balkans.

Tewfik Rushdi Aras, the leader of the Turkish delegation, was a
most colourful figure, a flexible diplomat, and past master at the
tricks of Oriental diplomacy, who was bent on disguising the impend-
ing rapprochement between Turkey and Britain, and kept saying he
wanted “to gratify all delegations”. Whom the Turks gratified most of
all, of course, were the British. On the assumption that a solution most
beneficial to Turkey depended on Britain’s grace. Aras even held
secret talks with the British, who were out to wreck the Soviet plan.

When the delegates were discussing the passage of Soviet major-
tonnage warships through the straits, Aras suggested adding the words
“of the existing fleet”.

“How am I to understand your proposal?” Litvinov asked. “Docs
it mean that if we build new ships you’re not going to let them
through?”

The Turk replied:

“What I mean is that the word ‘existing’ should not be understood
as ‘present-day’.”

“Am I to understand-that you’re taking back the word ‘exis-
ting’?”

Uncertainly, Aras said “I am.”

Randall was instantly on his feet. He turned to the Turkish For-
eign Minister angrily:

What do you mean? Haven’t we agreed with you those words
would be in the convention?”

The Turk was confused. He made a feeble attempt at explaining.
Nothing came of it. In the end, he apologised to Litvinov and to
Randall, and asked the chairman to expunge the discussion from the
minutes.

276

The conference in Montrcux dragged out. Litvinov went to Geneva,
while a working committee stayed on. When he returned in mid-July,
it was clear the British diplomats were bent on wrecking the confer-
ence.

At this critical point he told TASS correspondent Andrew Roth-
stein to go tell the other journalists he was packjng his bags: he was
leaving Montrcux and not coming back.

A report on Litvinov’s intentions appeared the following day in
all the papers. The conference, they said, was about to break down.

Litvinov had chosen a fortunate moment for his trial balloon.
Ominous news continued to come from Germany. Von Papcn had
signed an agreement in Vienna, paving the way for an Anschluss. The
situation in Europe was growing tenser. And at Montreux Britain was
forced to relent. The Turkish delegation, too, which had received
appropriate instructions from Ankara, became more pliable. The main
Soviet proposals were accepted, and on July 20, 1936, the conference
culminated in the signing of the Montreux Convention.

The world press spoke of one more Soviet diplomatic coup. Even
the whiteguard Paris paper, Poslcdniye Novosti, commented that the
history of Russian diplomacy had not known a more brilliant success.

On July 17, 1936, Litvinov was sixty. He hated birthday celebra-
tions. But his mates were determined. The chef at Hotel Montreux
Palace, where the Soviet diplomats stayed, was secretly asked to make
lentil soup, Litvinov’s favourite. The hotel owner remonstrated. “The
Monsieur Minister is sixty,” he kept saying, “and only lentil soup for
dinner? Impossible!”

All members of the Soviet delegation came to the dinner. They
congratulated Litvinov. He thanked them curtly. That was the end
of it. Congratulations arrived from Moscow. The Council of People’s
Commissars and the Party’s Central Committee paid homage to him,
“elder statesman of the Bolshevik Party and leader of the Soviet dip-
lomatic service, tireless fighter against war and for peace in the inter-
ests of the working people”.

For his outstanding services in behalf of peace, he was decorated
with the Order of Lenin. Other letters and telegrams arrived. Litvinov
was congratulated by colleagues, military men, workers, writers,
collective farmers, and Young Pioneers. The Foreign Commissariat
cabled that the messages were so numerous they could not all be for-
warded to Montreux.

Litvinov wrote in reply:

“Dear friends and comrades, I am deeply touched. Most of you
know I do not like celebrations. Reports of jubilees in the papers are

277

like draft obituaries... Certainly, looking back at 60 one feels that
what is left of life is much shorter than what went before. But if
Oscar Wilde was right when he said a man is as old as he feels, your
congratulations on my 60th birthday are premature. Besides, the en-
thusiasm we feel building socialism makes us feel younger and drives
away all thoughts of old age...

“This is especially clear to those who, like me, have for 35 years,
almost all their conscious lives, been Bolsheviks and cannot think in
terms other than those of a Marxist and Bolshevik. As we come clos-
er to our ideals, our age becomes more meaningful and gratifying, for
we measure it not by any number of years but by their quality. For
this substantial reason I beg you to deduct half my age, and forget
that I am sixty. All I can add is that I wish you to come to your
60th birthday with the same sense of youthfulness and the same faith
in our splendid future as I do today.”

Dell came in the evening, and talked him into going to Villencuve,
where a few other friendly journalists had gathered to honour him.
Light wine was ordered. Dell wanted to make a speech, but Litvinov
objected, jested merrily, and spoke of Moscow and the enchanting
Russian landscape...

On the following day, word came of the mutiny in Spain against
the Republican government.

Litvinov’s visage clouded over. He said reflectively, “Hard times
are ahead...”

Chapter 1 0
HARD TIMES

In the summer of 1936, Spain won the hearts of Soviet people
forever. Solidarity meetings were held. Volunteers wanted to help
the Spanish, to stand by Jose Diaz and Dolores Ibarruri. In the back-
woods of Russia men and women learned the words, “No pasaran”.
They followed the route of the s.s Komsomolets carrying medical
supplies to Spain. The Mansanares River became as familiar as the Ne-
va and Volga. When an Italian corps was routed at Guadalajara, people
all over the Soviet Union rejoiced. Homegrown strategists appeared
in every house. They predicted the course of events.

Then black-eyed little boys and girls came to Moscow, Ivanovo,
and other cities from Madrid, Valencia, Alicante, and other Spanish
towns. Thousands of families were eager to take them in. The Spanish
children were provided the best living conditions and schooling. The
Soviet Land became their second homeland. And when they came to
solidarity meetings, raising their tightly clenched little fists in salute,
all arms rose in response.

The fascist mutiny and the subsequent Italo-German intervention
was out to wipe out democracy in Spain. But it was also out to cut
off Britain and France from their colonial possessions, and create a
staging ground in the backyard of France. More, for Hitler and Mus-
solini Spain was a proving-ground for the arms they would use in the
coming world war.

The aggression could have been nipped in the bud. Italy’s re-
sources were badly depleted by its war in Ethiopia. It was gripped by
serious economic difficulties. There was mounting disaffection in the
country over Mussolini’s African adventure. And Germany was not
yet strong enough to oppose a united front of democratic countries.
At the end of 1936, the Wehrmacht had 14 army corps numbering
a million men. It was not ready for a big war. Resolute action by
Britain and France, both of them with powerful navies in the Atlantic
and Mediterranean, could have speedily paralysed the Italo-German in-
tervention.

The Soviet position was clear: the USSR called for resolute action

279

against any and all aggressors, and was prepared to impose sanctions
against the fascist powers.

But the European tragedy did not begin in the early hours of July
18, 1936. It began much earlier, and originated with the anti-Soviet-
ism of the European powers, which were determined to at least
weaken, if not destroy, the Soviet Union. It had to be turned into a
second-rate power at any price, and German ambitions would serve
this aim.

The success of the democratic forces in France and Spain, where
the Popular Front deposed the Primo de Rivera dictatorship, galva-
nised reactionaries all over the world, and redoubled anti-Soviet sen-
timent in Britain, France, and the United States. A month before the
fascist mutiny broke out in Spain, the British Daily Mail wrote that if
communism in Spain and France should spread to other countries,
the German and Italian governments, which had stamped out the con-
tagion in their own countries, would be Britain’s most useful friends.

The three years between the start of the fascist mutiny in Spain
and the outbreak of the Second World War were highlighted by vig-
orous Soviet efforts to safeguard peace and counter the designs of
aggressors in various parts of the world. Litvinov was most active in
this drive, and not only as diplomat but as propagator of the Marx-
ist-Lcninist ideology.

On November 27, 1936, Spain’s Republican government protest-
ed against the Italo-Gcrman intervention in the League of Nations
Assembly. The Soviet Union backed up the Spanish delegate. At an
extraordinary session of the League Council in December 1936, Lit-
vinov called for urgent measures to halt the fascist intervention.

All Soviet efforts were resisted by the British and French. The
question of the Italo-German intervention was taken out of the com-
petence of the League of Nations and transferred to a specially
formed non-interference committee.

The Soviet Union joined the non-interference committee in the
hope of influencing the policy of the Western powers, and preventing
any growth of aggression. But Britain and France went out of their
way to turn the committee into a body that prevented aid from reach-
ing the lawful Spanish government.

Alexandra Kollontai, who was then member of the Soviet delega-
tion to the League of Nations, wrote her close friend and secretary,
Emma Lorenson, in Stockholm that a “fatalist” view of world affairs
prevailed in Geneva. “My heart bleeds,” she wrote, “when I see the
way they treat Spain. It’s horrifying. I’m unhappy and furious...”

Most of the time, Litvinov was in Geneva for that was the venue
of the battle royal against the chief enemy, Hitler. Hitler had inspired

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the war in Spain, that prelude of a world conflagration, and this had
to be brought home to all nations.

The basic guidelines of Soviet foreign policy were well defined.
And Litvinov followed those guidelines faithfully. The diplomatic
service was promoting them, and he, Litvinov, was accentuating them
in his Geneva speeches.

Before the League sittings he usually walked a bit along the shore
of the Lake of Geneva. Here he could concentrate, and prepare for
the next public speech. Sometimes, he would go to a nearby town-
ship. The keeper of the little local restaurant knew him well. He usu-
ally ordered beer and some spicy dish, read the papers, and ruminated.
Quiet all round-just hills and the valley-a tranquil joy of life every-
where, but the calm was deceptive: Europe and the rest of the world
was drifting irrevocably towards another big war.

The British and French delegates continued their dangerous game.
They went out of their way to prove that Litvinov was exaggerating,
that Nazi Germany wasn’t half as great a menace as he made out.

Don’t fear the Reich, he was told. Hitler was nothing but a loud-
mouthed rabble-rouser. Barking dogs don’t bite.

And he parried: I know barking dogs don’t bite, but do the dogs
know it?

The Soviet Union aided the people of Spain to the best of its abil-
ity. It granted credits to buy arms— to the tune of 85 million dollars.
Soviet volunteers fought for Republican Spain. Soviet military ad-
visers helped build up the regular Spanish People’s Army. Shiploads
of medical supplies and food arrived.

Italy and Germany attacked merchant ships in the open sea. A few
British and French vessels were sunk along with their crews. The So-
viet ships Timiriazev and Blagoyev were sunk, too.

Britain and France called a conference of Mediterranean and Black
Sea countries to discuss safety of shipping. It was held in Nyon from
September 10 to 14, 1937. Litvinov attended, and, as usual, worked
for concrete decisions.

Cabling the Foreign Commissariat about the opening of the confer-
ence, Litvinov reported: “They tried to prevail on me not to speak.
The motive: to get on with business and begin patrolling the Medi-
terranean. I said I welcomed prompt action, but if the patrolling start-
ed half an hour later, no one would lose. Since we were not consult-
ed before the conference convened, I said, we could not sit idly with-
out stating our government’s attitude.

“I criticised destroying submarines only if they violated the Lon-
don Convention, which envisaged wartime rather than a time of
peace. I described that as ‘humanising war in peacetime’ because the

281

underlying sense was that submarine crews would be allowed to save
their skins. 1 also said this paved the way to legalising war and recognis-
ing Franco’s rights as a belligerent. My objections confused and embar-
rassed the British. They admitted 1 had raised a fundamental point.”

On September 11, Litvinov followed up with this telegram: “Many
of my objections have been taken into account in the text, notably
non-recognition of any rights of belligerents.”

The conference made it obligatory for its participants to take
firm action against any acts of piracy in the Mediterranean.

The fascist aggression in Spain strained the situation in Europe to
the extreme. The atmosphere in Asia, too, was near boiling point. On
November 25, 1936, Germany, Italy, and Japan signed an accord in
Berlin— a monstrosity called the Anti-Comintern Pact. Shortly before,
Goring said at a cabinet meeting in Berlin that a collision with Russia
was unavoidable. In the summer of 1937, Japan renewed its war in
China. The Italo-German interference in Spanish affairs intensified.
The interventionists shed all pretences: they were openly sending
troops and arms to help Franco.

Litvinov travelled extensively-seeing diplomats, attending confer-
ences, coming to League of Nations sessions. He would appear in
Moscow for a few days, then go to Warsaw or Paris or Geneva. Maisky
in London was active through diplomatic channels, but also as a good-
will envoy— seeing public leaders, writers, artists, actors. The public in
Britain began demanding their government should take more vigor-
ous action against Hitler Germany. In France, Soviet diplomats
helped by eminent scientists and public leaders organised pressure
on Leon Blum’s government and, in effect, prevailed on him to
declare that France would react to any German aggression.

In November 1937, the League of Nations called a conference in
Brussels to discuss the Japanese incursions in China. The Western
powers were playing their dangerous game in that part of the world
as well: the USA, Britain, and other capitalist countries gave to un-
derstand they would do nothing to curb the aggressor in Asia. In its
declaration of November 24, the conference meekly called on China
and Japan “to stop the hostilities and resort to peaceful methods”.

1 hough the situation in the Far East was complicated to the ex-
treme, Litvinov was convinced that the chief enemy was in Europe.
In December 1937, he granted an interview on the Far Eastern ques-
tion. Extracts appeared in the foreign press. Litvinov said the Anti-
Comintern Pact was a threat not only to the Soviet Union, but also,
and notably, to France and Britain. Ideology meant very little to the
Nazis, he said. Hitler had militarised the Reich and adopted methods

282

of the crudest gangsterism. Mussolini and the Japanese were follow-
ing suit because they hoped to get their share of the pie. And the
first victims would be the rich capitalist states. The peoples of Britain
and France were inactive, while their leaders were blind to obvious
facts. Hitler Germany would start by overrunning France and attack-
ing Britain, which it would then proceed to plunder. The Soviet
Union would be the last country to be attacked. “We have our Red
Army,” he said, “and vast expanses of territory.”

Meanwhile, Japan was complicating its relations with the United
States. A conflict between them loomed big. Litvinov warned the U.S.
Ambassador, Joseph Davies, about it. Davies took the warning lightly.
He had other worries. His wife, a rich heiress, had crossed the At-
lantic to Odessa in a luxury yacht. She loved publicity, and enjoyed
the press coverage of her voyage. Western journalists wrote more
about her yacht and its crew of forty than about European security
and the Far East. Litvinov observed that despite the highly complex
world situation, the U.S. press was occupied with trifles. Davies as-
sured the Soviet diplomat things were not as bad as he thought and
advised him to take a less sombre view.

Every time he returned from abroad, Litvinov would scrutinise
developments at home. He was eager to sec the country’s daily con-
cerns. Once, back from Geneva, Litvinov attended a reception at the
Moscow Soviet. He listened to the speakers with rapt attention,
asked people about their age, occupation, and record, and looked
closely at the young people around him who would soon replace the
elder Bolsheviks at the helm of state. He had boundless faith in the
creative powers of the people.

But there was something that bothered him. He saw processes
foreign to the spirit of Leninism. He saw fear, uncertainty, and sus-
picion beginning to seize hold. This was increasingly visible, and tend-
ed to slacken progress and interfere with people’s lives. It hindered
people from devoting all their faculties to the building of a new so-
ciety-the aim of the Revolution.

One day, Litvinov was about to go to a reception at some foreign
embassy. He asked Krestinsky who else would go from the Foreign
Commissariat.

“Many have been invited, but few will go,” Krestinsky said.

“Why?”

“They’re afraid.”

Litvinov had to use his powers of persuasion before his people
agreed to go to diplomatic receptions.

It looked as though nothing could shake Litvinov’s position as

283

chief of the Soviet diplomatic service. His creditable performance on
the international scene was acknowledged in every possible way. In
1936, at the Eighth Extraordinary Congress of Soviets, he was elected
to the presiding party and was made member of the committee draft-
ing the final text of the Constitution. Pravda published his speech on
the front page. On December 6, 1936, the paper carried a photograph
of Stalin, Molotov, Voroshilov, Budyonny, and Litvinov voting for
the final text of the Constitution.

Litvinov saw his relationship with Stalin as one between two Com-
munists with common ideas. He could not conceive any worship of
rank within the Communist Party, whose very name stood for equa-
lity and fraternity. While acknowledging Stalin’s position as the
Party’s General Secretary, he never curried favour. This was noticed
by everyone who saw him with Stalin.

In 1936, at the Foreign Commissariat’s villa, a reception was being
held in connection with U.S. Ambassador Bullitt’s departure. Stalin
happened to phone at that very time. Yuri Kozlovsky, Litvinov’s
secretary, took the call.

“Where’s Comrade Litvinov?” Stalin asked.

“He’s giving a farewell luncheon in Bullitt’s honour.”

‘‘Can you reach him?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“We’ve arranged to meet. Tell him 1 expect him at four sharp.”

When told of Stalin’s call, Litvinov said he would make it by four-
if the reception ended in time.

Vladimir Barkov, who was chief of protocol at the Foreign Com-
missariat, said Litvinov had always behaved with dignity.

“Dignity came natural to him,” he said. “Flattery and bootlick-
ing were entirely foreign. Nor could he bear these traits in others.
He never departed from Party standards of behaviour. This was true
when Leninist standards still prevailed, and also true later. I recall
that once, in 1935, when he and I were striding across the Kremlin to
the government building, we saw Stalin walking towards us. Litvinov
showed no sign of excitement or fuss, his stride did not change. Sta-
lin came up. They said hello. Litvinov introduced me, ‘This is Barkov,
recently appointed chief of protocol.’

“Stalin, who had a good memory, said hello and observed, ‘Ah,

I know. We recalled you from China in a hurry.’

“This was true. I had been urgently recalled during the troubles on
the Chinese Eastern Railway.

“Stalin and Litvinov exchanged a few more observations, and we
went on our way.”

Things were growing worse. Uncertainty and suspiciousness spread

284

more and more in the Foreign Commissariat. One staff member after
another disappeared. They were locked up on charges of anti-Soviet
activity.

Nearly all Litvinov’s deputies were arrested in 1937 and 1938.
First Deputy Krestinsky was involved in the Trotsky trials, and was
shot. The same befell Karakhan. Boris Stomoniakov, too, one of Lit-
vinov’s closest associates, was arrested.

On the day this happened, Litvinov had just returned from abroad.
He learned that Stomoniakov had tried to commit suicide, and had
been hospitalised. Litvinov telephoned Stalin, and made an appoint-
ment.

Here is their short, dramatic dialogue:

“Comrade Stalin, 1 can vouch for Stomoniakov. I have known him
since the beginning of the century. We carried out some tough assign-
ments together for Lenin and the Central Committee. I can vouch for
him.”

Stalin was lighting his pipe, walking slowly up and down his study.
He stopped beside Litvinov, looked at him frigidly, and said:

“Comrade Litvinov, you can vouch for one person only- your-
self.”

Litvinov left. We can only guess what he, a man who had joined
Lenin’s party the year it was founded, must have felt.

As everywhere else in the country, meetings were held in the For-
eign Commissariat to denounce “enemies of the people”. Litvinov
attended none of them. Never a word did he utter about or against
“enemies of the people”. In 1937, at a Party meeting, Vladimir Po-
temkin, the newly appointed First Deputy Foreign Commissar, want-
ed Litvinov to say what he thought of the Krestinsky trial, for hadn’t
Krestinsky been his first deputy. Litvinov replied:

“Read the papers. They have the whole story. Or do you want
me to say more than the papers say? Docs that mean you don’t be-
lieve the papers?”

Never did Potemkin raise the issue again.

In those days, Litvinov avoided racalling ambassadors or any other
diplomats serving abroad. lie did so in extreme cases only. For he
knew they might not be able to leave Moscow ever again. Alexander
Bekzadyan, Ambassador to Hungary, came to Moscow once without
Litvinov’s summons. Litvinov told him to go back to Budapest at
once. But too late. Bekzadyan was apprehended.

Early in 1937, Litvinov came to Paris to see Potemkin, who was
then Soviet Ambassador to France, to discuss a few urgent aspects of
Anglo-French policy vis-a-vis Spain. A few other ambassadors had
been summoned there, too.

285

Litvinov’s train arrived from Geneva early in the morning. He had
asked Potemkin in advance that no one should come to meet him at
the station. Paris was still asleep. Litvinov dismissed his bodyguard,
whom he called a guardian angel. He wanted to be alone with a dip-
lomat whom he had known since Civil War days. They walked slowly
along the deserted streets. Litvinov maintained a morose silence. Sud-
denly, he spoke:

“I can’t bear it any longer— those arrests, and those paeans to Sta-
lin. What’s happening? Lenin’s closest comrades are being done away
with...”

The outburst ended just as suddenly as it began. His livid fa?e grad-
ually paled.

Potemkin was waiting for Litvinov at the embassy gate. He looked
at him closely, wondering why he had walked all the way from the
station.

In the meantime, the European tragedy was developing swiftly.
The policy of appeasing Hitler bore new, venomous fruit. On March
12, 1938, Nazi troops invaded Austria. The Anschluss occurred.
Austria ceased to exist as an independent state. It became a German
Land with Seyss- Inquart, an Austrian Nazi and Hitler’s emissary, in
charge. Vexedly, in a letter of instruction, Litvinov wrote to the
Soviet Ambassador in Washington: “Roosevelt and Hull preach peace,
but have not lifted a finger in its behalf.”

Capitalist Europe swallowed the new act of piracy without a mur-
mur. The Soviet Union alone came out against Germany’s aggressive
policy. On March 17 it declared that the Austrian nation had been forc-
ibly stripped of political, economic, and cultural independence. Lit-
vinov said, “The disappearance of the Austrian state was not even
noticed by the League of Nations.”

In April, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain signed an agreement
with Mussolini, establishing “good-neighbour relations” between Bri-
tain and Italy. Britain recognised Italy’s conquest of Ethiopia, and vir-
tually legalised Italian interference in Spain. France struck, too,
closing the Franco-Spanish border.

The non-interference committee had practically ceased to function.
But that altered nothing. On April 19, 1939, Alvarez del Vayo de-
clared that now the policy of non-interference betrayed a desire to
strangle the people fighting for their independence, for peace, and the
future of European freedom and democracy.

Preparations for the 18th Congress of the Communist Party were
begun at the end of 1937. Litvinov saw 1 Stalin more often than usual,

286

for the latter was writing his congress report, part of which dealt
with the international situation. Though he had no use for ghost writ-
ers, he did call in advisers, mostly Dmitry Manuilsky, the Party’s
representative in the Comintern, and Yevgeny Varga, an eminent stu-
dent of world affairs. This time, however, his choice fell on Litvinov,
whom he would ask for his opinion, and for references and papers.

In the early months of 1938, the Leningrad regional and city Par-
ty conference elected Litvinov its delegate to the congress, which
opened on March 10, 1939, in Moscow. Practically all the delegates
whom Litvinov had seen at the previous, 17th, Congress, were conspi-
cuous by their absence. Nearly all the regional and republican commit-
tees were headed by new people, so were nearly all the commissa-
riats.

The Central Committee’s report contained an analysis of the inter-
national and domestic situation in the five years since the previous
congress. Staggering changes had occurred on the international scene.
There was political and economic upheaval in the capitalist countries.
The peak of the economic crisis had been passed, but its aftermaths
were still felt. The fight for the redivision of colonies had grown
sharper. The system of postwar treaties had collapsed. War had broken
out in various parts of the world. The imperialist states would not
abandon the idea of somehow wiping out the USSR, the world’s
only socialist country.

For the Soviet Union those five years had been a time of further
economic and cultural growth, growth of political and military
power, of persevering struggle for peace. And this despite all the dif-
ficulties.

A new Central Committee was elected at the Party congress. Lit-
vinov was one of the few Central Committee members elected at the
17th Congress to be re-elected.

By the summer of 1938 it was quite clear that the League of Na-
tions would do nothing to bridle aggression. But Soviet diplomacy
missed no opportunity to promote peace. The 101st session of the
League Council opened on May 10 in Geneva. Litvinov came a few
days before the opening, and at once received Romanian Foreign Min-
ister N.P. Comnene. Then he met British Foreign Secretary Lord
Halifax. London, he learned, intended to continue ignoring the Italo-
German intervention in Spain. Halifax declared that appeasement was
popular in all countries.

The League Council session showed that the lesser states, prompted
by the British, intended to evade their commitments, and to impose
no sanctions against aggressors. The Swiss spokesman said as much

287

in a special statement. And Switzerland inspired similar statements by
other countries.

Alvarez del Vayo said France and Britain had decided “to let Ger-
many and Italy operate freely on the side of the Spanish mutineers”.

Litvinov took the floor after the Spanish delegate. “All countries
present and not present, he said, “know the point of view of the
Soviet Government. I hey know that if it had depended on the Soviet
Government, the League of Nations would long since have carried
out its commitments to a fellow-member of the League. The Soviet
Government would never stand in the League Council’s way if it de-
cided to carry out the demands of the Spanish representative.”

Would the League of Nations act? No. For that matter, it was near-
ly dead. Alexandra Kollontai, who was in Geneva with Litvinov, wrote
to a friend in Stockholm:

“The international situation is exceedingly tense. And if there’s a
solution, it will not come from Geneva.”

Soviet diplomacy continued to fight. It did its utmost to support
Republican Spain. Litvinov advised Alvarez del Vayo to demand
that the League of Nations should condemn the Italo-German inter-
vention and apply collective sanctions under Article 16 of the Lea-
gue s Covenant. The battle to have this issue put up for discussion
went on for three days. French journalist Andre Simon wrote:

“It was a tragic spectacle. At long last, the resolution submitted
to the Council by Scnor del Vayo was put to the vote. The ‘No’
pronounced amid deadly silence by Lord Halifax and Georges Bonnet
sounded like a slap in the face. The tension in the hall became un-
bearable. The only one to back Republican Spain was the Soviet rep-
resentative. At my side, I heard the lady correspondent of a Swiss
newspaper burst into tears. Senor del Vayo and his companions were
deadly pale, but held their heads high as they left the assembly hall.
At the entrance to his hotel, journalists surrounded the French For-
eign Minister. People shouted: ‘You’ve killed Spain!’ Pale in the
face, Bonnet took to his heels.”

The policy of the Western powers left the road open for new ag-
gressions. In May, after a succession of provocative actions, German
troops began concentrating on the Czechoslovak border. The inten-
tions of the Nazis were obvious: to dismember Czechoslovakia, and
seize the Sudetenland.

The Soviet Union followed Hitler’s moves with the closest atten-
tion. On March 16, 1938, Litvinov warned in a press interview that if
Czechoslovakia were attacked, the Soviet Union would fulfil its duty.
On April 25, this was reiterated by Mikhail Kalinin.

288

In the early half of 1938, the country was preparing for elections
to the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation. Litvinov was no-
minated to run for Deputy in Leningrad’s Petrograd election district,
where he had also run in the elections to the Supreme Soviet of the
USSR. He came to Leningrad to appear before the electorate, and used
that public appearance to comment on some burning international
issues.

The public appearance, attended by more than 2,000 people, took
place on June 23. Falin, an engineer of the Electric Factory, wel-
comed Litvinov on behalf of the electorate. He said, among other
things, that Litvinov had dedicated his life to the working people,
their liberation, and happiness. “As People’s Commissar lor Foreign
Affairs, he said, Litvinov had “acquitted himself as a fearless fighter
against fascism.”

Speakers succeeded each other on the platform. One of them
turned to Litvinov and said, “You have elevated the image of a Soviet
diplomat. It is a proud calling, recognised all over the world. Your
fight for world peace merits the highest praise.”

Leningradskaya Pravda commented: “When the ovations died
down, Comrade Litvinov delivered a long and profound speech,
producing a brilliant analysis of the international situation.”

Litvinov showed how the international situation had developed af-
ter the World War. He recalled that at first the British and French had
refused to recognize the Soviet Union. He called attention to the
fascist threat. “Our pacts with France and Czechoslovakia, he said,
“commit us to aid each other in the event of war. But what we real-
ly want is to prevent or at least lessen the danger of a war breaking
out in specific parts of Europe. In face of the menace to Czechoslo-
vakia today, it should be clear to all concerned that the Soviet-Czech-
o Slovak pact will work in that direction. That is the biggest, if not
the sole, major factor that relieves the tension around Czechoslova-
kia... Czechoslovakia is the defending side, and the responsibility for
the consequences are to be borne by the offending side.

The audience applauded heartily. Cries of “Death to fascism’
resounded. Litvinov continued: “Only a pallid shadow has remained
of the impressive force that the League of Nations should in fact
constitute... The League of Nations is paralysed, and if no urgent
measures are taken to revive it, it will fall apart completely by the
time the next conflict breaks out.”

All speeches addressed to his fellow-countrymen, Litvinov ended
with the appeal of strengthening the nation’s defence capacity. He
did so in Leningrad, too. “If the worst happens,” he said, “and the
peace is breached despite our efforts to the contrary, we know that

19-01072

289

our defences arc in strong and skillful hands, those of the Red Army
Red Navy, and Red Air Force, backed by the entire Soviet people.”

The Soviet government sought to avert a Nazi invasion of Czecho-
slovakia. Litvinov devoted all his energy to this. On August 22, 1938,
he received the German Ambassador Werner von der Schulenburg.’
The Soviet Foreign Commissar said, “The people of Czechoslovakia
will fight for their independence as one man... We, too, will live up
to our commitments to Czechoslovakia.”

In his record of their conversation, Schulenburg noted that Lit-
vinov was aware of Germany’s designs. He put down Litvinov’s words
verbatim: “Germany isn’t really worried about the lot of the Sudeten
Germans; it wants to liquidate Czechoslovakia as a whole.”

In September, Litvinov spoke to Jean Payart, the French charge
d affaires. He pointed out that under the existing treaty, France was
obliged to aid Czechoslovakia in the event of a German attack, and
suggested that military experts of the three countries should gather
and discuss military aid to Czechoslovakia. “To defend Czechoslo-
vakia in common, there must be a preliminary discussion of how to
do it, he said, and added, “We’re ready for it.”

France turned the suggestion down.

Meanwhile, Britain continued its intrigues. It was preparing for a
deal with Hitler. When at the end of September Litvinov set out for
Geneva, the crisis over the Sudetenland was at its height. German
troops were massed on the Czechoslovak border. The League of Na-
tions, however, continued to occupy itself with secondary issues
Litvinov again tried to turn its attention to European security. But
the British and French spokesmen managed to keep Czechoslovakia
off the agenda.

Litvinov spoke on the subject at an Assembly sitting, and more
sharply than ever before. He warned that war would break out any
day. “To avoid a doubtful war today and get a certain and all-embrac-
mg war tomorrow, and at the price of satisfying insatiable aggressors
and destroying or crippling sovereign states,” he said, “is contrary to
the spirit of the Covenant of the League of Nations. To reward sabre-
rattling and resort to arms or, in other words, to reward and encourage
super-imperialism, is contrary to the spirit of the Kellogg-Briand Pact.”
This was Litvinov’s last speech in the League of Nations. It was
clear that the Western powers, notably Britain and France, blinded
by their hatred of the Soviet Union, had betrayed the cause of peace
m Europe. They were going to betray Czechoslovakia in a bid to ap-
pease Hitler and direct his aggression against the Soviet Union. Litvi-
nov had not the slightest doubt on this score. Andrew Rothstein recol-

290

lects; “When Litvinov came to Geneva in September, I asked him
what he thought would happen to the Czechs. Letvinov replied that
the English would sell the Czechs down the river.”

Berlin was well informed of the intentions of the British and French
ruling class. On September 26, Hitler again threatened to wipe out
Czechoslovakia. The country’s fate was sealed. To “pacify” Hitler,
British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain and his French counter-
part, Daladier, came to Munich. A four-power conference of Britain,
France, Germany, and Italy, opened there on September 28. The Mu-
nich agreement, which dismembered Czechoslovakia, was signed on
September 30, 1938. To journalists who met him at Croydon Airport
when he returned from Germany, Chamberlain exclaimed that he
had “brought back peace for our time”. In fact, however, one more
step had been taken towards the costliest and bloodiest war in history.
This was immediately registered by Communists in Europe and Amer-
ica. They addressed their peoples, and pointed out that “the Munich
deal has not saved the peace; it has put peace in still greater jeopardy,
because it has struck at the alliance of the peace forces in all coun-
tries and encouraged the fascists”.

Yes, the Nazis could not have hoped for a more favourable turn
of events. After this additional bloodless victory over the Western
democracies, they looked questioningly in the direction of the Soviet
Union. What would be the reaction there? The letters of W. von Tip-
pelskirch, counsellor of the German Embassy in Moscow, were seized
by Americans in German archives after the war. He had reported to
Berlin on October 3 and 10, 1938, a few days after the Munich deal,
that “Soviet policy is bound to be adjusted in face of the failure of
the pacts and alliances, the failure of the collective security idea,
and the breakdown of the League of Nations... I think Stalin will
punish certain people for the failure of Soviet policy, first of all Lit-
vinov.”

This letter of the Nazi diplomat is an indication of Berlin’s secret
designs.

After the Munich deal, events developed still more swiftly. The
tragedy in Spain was approaching its culmination. The Republican
army was virtually crushed. On March 5, 1939, the Soviet papers pub-
lished the following notice: “Since the non-intervention committee
in London has ceased to function, and has become senseless, the
Council of People’s Commissars has decided on March 1 to recall its
representative on that committee.”

On March 20, Prime Minister Emil Hacha of Czechoslovakia and
Foreign Minister Hvalkovski arrived in Berlin and were at once

291

brought to the Reichschancellory. In the presence of Ribbentrop and
Goring, they were handed a document ordering the Czechoslovak
government to step down. Hitler told them Prague would be occupied
by the Wehrmacht the following day. Anyone who tried to resist
would be crushed.

In those tragic days, the Soviet government did its utmost to avert
fresh acts of aggression by Hitler Germany. Soviet diplomats in Lon-
don, Paris, and other European capitals redoubled their activity. They
appealed to the public at large, and negotiated at foreign ministries.

Litvinov did not go to Geneva again. But Soviet efforts in the Lea-
gue of Nations had not been wasted. Under Soviet pressure, the Lea-
gue had discussed all breaches of world peace. This had tended to de-
ter potential aggressors, compelling them to reckon with public opin-
ion. Though the League had hardly ever applied economic sanc-
tions, the discussions in the Council and Assembly had forced Euro-
pean and other states to cut back exports of strategic goods to Germa-
ny and Italy. But, all in all, the League proved incapable of ensuring
peace.

Three years after the Second World War began, British Foreign
Secretary Anthony Eden said the old League of Nations had failed
because the forces that would have held it up were not represented
on it. Luigi Sturzo, an American scholar, produced a still more anni-
hilating assessment. The mistake, he said, was that the League of Na-
tions consisted of countries that refused to assume responsibilities
concomitant with League membership. They became enemies of the
League and sabotaged it.

But, surely, the reasons for the League’s failure were more deep-
rooted. In the 14 years of its existence, it had operated primarily as
“ n anti-Soviet instrument. True, the Soviet Union’s admission to the
League held back the consolidation of the anti-Soviet forces. But
the anti-Soviet trend could not be entirely overcome in just five years.
Doubly so, because Britain and France, the leading capitalist countries
in the League, had set themselves the aim of channelling the Nazi
peril against the Soviet Union.

When it was clear that, with Austria in its pocket, Germany would
turn its attention to Czechoslovakia, the Soviet Union began nego-
tiating a “peace front” against Hitlerite aggression with Britain and
France. Litvinov, who conducted the negotiations, was perfectly well
aware that as long as Chamberlain was Prime Minister, there would
be no accord on this score. But the negotiations as such helped to
foster anti-fascist sentiment.

Yet it was becoming ever more difficult for Litvinov to function.

292

Though he was still in charge of the Soviet diplomatic service he
noticed that a vacuum was gradually forming around him. After the
18 th Party Congress, following Stalin’s instructions, Potemkin pub-
lished foreign-policy articles in the journal Bolshevik and other mass
media. Litvinov learned about them only after they appeared in print.
New people came to the Foreign Commissariat, appointed without
Litvinov’s knowledge. It reached him that not all Soviet ambassadors
sent him the requisite information. Many of them, he learned, were
sending their reports over his head to Molotov. He learned that in
some countries diplomatic functions had been given over to Soviet
trade representatives, and that David Kandelaki, the trade represen-
tative in Berlin, had for a fairly long time maintained direct contacts
on diplomatic matters with Molotov. Considering the highly compli-
cated situation, Litvinov was willing to concede that there could be
ambiguous moves and possible compromises, but that this should
happen behind his back was wholly contrary to the principles of Le-
ninist diplomacy.

Litvinov became aware that he was no longer able to change any-
thing. So he sat down and wrote his resignation. But once it was writ-
ten, an inner struggle began: should he submit it or not? Would it
not’ be cowardly to abandon his post at this troubled time? Was it
honourable? But, on the other hand, why the isolation? Was he no
longer trusted? Things were happening behind his back for which he
was no longer answerable. Did that mean he should resign? He pon-
dered and pondered, and put the resignation away in his safe.

After the Soviet Union withdrew from the non-interference com-
mittee, Litvinov left Moscow no more. He negotiated with the Brit-
ish. At the end of March, a Japanese delegation came to negotiate
fishery in Far Eastern waters. The Japanese wanted more favourable
terms, hoping to win a free hand for spying against the Soviet Union.
Acting on government instructions, Litvinov made no concessions to
them.

Outwardly, he was as collected, methodical, and poised as before.
Nothing escaped him. He reacted promptly to whatever the other
side happened to do. He never lost his self-control-just as calm as
ever in his dealings with colleagues, and just as considerate to his
family. On April 3, 1939, Litvinov wrote his wife in Sverdlovsk, where
she was running a course of English, that he would at once send her
the hot-water bottle she had asked for in her latest letter. “I’m wor-
ried about your bronchitis,” he wrote, “for you had it the previous
winter, and I know how liable it is to drag on. Do your best to get rid
of it. Don’t go outdoors until you do, or it will last for months.”

But the tension that had accumulated sought an escape. ' Only

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now, after we have finally signed the fishery agreement,” he wrote,
I realised how tired I am. The Japanese tormented me. They were
like a plague. I had to keep myself in hand or I’d start slapping their
faces. I m glad it’s over. A British delegation was here for four or five
days. Its leader was a typical specimen of the more brazen upper
crust. His wife was an Anglicized American, very energetic and hungry
for entertainment. She went to the theatre every night. ‘Swan Lake’
with Ulanova delighted her. She and her husband were enchanted
beyond measure. But all I want is to relax for a few days, at least
at the summer house— especially now, with spring on its way.”

Did Litvinov have any inkling that soon he would have lots of time
to relax— not for a few days but for nearly two years? In the evenings,
coming home from the Commissariat, he looked troubled and morose.

April 193 9 abounded in tension-filled work. Litvinov received
foreign diplomats, conducted negotiations, conferred with members
of the Collegium, and interviewed a colleague who had been apppoint-
ed to the embassy in the Mongolian People’s Republic. He spoke
to him at length of his tasks, gave advice, and wished him a good trip.

On April 27 a meaningful episode occurred. Litvinov was sum-
moned by Stalin. Also summoned was Maisky, ambassador in London,
who was then in Moscow. Here is how Maisky described the interview:
“It w as the first time I saw the relationship between Litvinov,
Stalin, and Molotov. The atmosphere was strained to the extreme.
Though Stalin looked outwardly calm, puffing on his pipe all the
time, it was obvious he was annoyed with Litvinov. As for Molotov,
he was simply vicious, attacking Litvinov and accusing him of ev-
erything under the sun.”

On his way from London to Moscow, Maisky had stopped over
in Helsinki, where he paid a courtesy visit at the Foreign Ministry.
Foreign Minister Erkko, who had been ambassador to Moscow from
1929 to 1932, asked him what he thought of the European situation,
Maisky replied vaguely, as he had done in London talking with other
diplomats. Maisky’s conversation with Erkko reached the press. Lit-
vinov was reprimanded for it, and told that his people had got out of
control.

“What right had Maisky to speak to Erkko?” Stalin asked.

“Comrade Stalin, it was an ordinary conversation between two
diplomats; he could not avoid it.” Litvinov replied.

Stalin said no more. On the following day, Maisky left for London
with a sense of dismay at having let Litvinov down. He could not
have known that Litvinov’s fate as People’s Commissar was already
scaled. On May 4, in London, at a diplomatic reception, Maisky was
approached by the Chinese ambassador who asked him if he knew

294

the latest news. “Litvinov has resigned,” the Chinese diplomat said. I
was stunned,” Maisky recollected.

Here is what happened in Moscow. In the early morning of May 4,
the Foreign Commissariat building was surrounded by troops of the
Commissariat for Internal Affairs. Molotov, Georgy Malenkov, 42
and Lavrenty Beria, 63 who arrived at dawn, informed Litvinov that
he was dismissed from the post of People’s Commissar.

Around 10 in the morning Litvinov went to his summer house.
A platoon of soldiers was already there. The government telephone
was disconnected. Litvinov used the city phone to get in touch with
Beria.

“Why this business of the guards?”

Beria giggled.

“You’re valuable, Maxim Maximovich. We must guard you.”

Litvinov dropped the phone.

Around noon, Molotov and Beria returned to the Foreign Commis-
sariat. Beria summoned Dekanosov, one of his lieutenants. Foreign
Commissariat employees were not allowed to enter the building, lhey
were kept in the lobby. Then they were called. Molotov told them he
was now People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs. He also said he
would restore order in personnel matters.

Beria looked closely at the people around him. His gaze fell on
Pavel Nazarov, acting General Secretary of the Foreign Commissariat
and secretary of its Komsomol branch. Shortly before, his father
Stepan Nazarov, an old Bolshevik and member of the Party’s Central
Control Commission and a delegate to the 17th Party Congress, had
been arrested. Pavel was immediately expelled from the Party, but
Litvinov saw to it that his membership was restored.

“Nazarov,” Beria addressed him, “why was your father arrested?”

“You are probably better informed about it than I.”

Beria chuckled:

“You and me will talk about this later.”

Zina, Nazarov’s wife, recollected:

“On May 4, Pavel did not return from work. He had gone to work
in a new suit, without a vest, which he did not like. Around midnight,
he telephoned, said not to worry, he would come home late. I was
about to go to bed when the bell rang. I opened the door, and saw
three men in uniform and two in plain clothes.”

They searched the house. It took them all night. A few days later,
a general meeting was called at the Foreign Commissariat, and Molo-
tov said there had been an Italian spy in the Foreign Commissariat,
whom the staff had allowed to operate with impunity.

Pavel Nazarov was made an “Italian spy” because he had been

295

born in Genoa, where his parents, wjio were professional revolution-
aries, had fled from a Siberia convict camp. Pavel had lived in Genoa
until he was three. A Bolshevik returning to tsarist Russia took him
to Samara,* where the Nazarovs had relatives.

After Litvinov’s dismissal, many members of the Foreign Commis-
sariat’s staff were arrested. They were seized cither in the street or at
home or at their office. That was when Fyodor Raskolnikov 64 would
say in a letter to Stalin what no one had ventured to say before.

“Though you knew that owing to our shortage of personnel,
every experienced and trained diplomat was doubly valuable,” he
wrote, “you have lured nearly all the Soviet ambassadors to Moscow,
and destroyed them one by one. You have completely torn down the
apparatus of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs.”

Litvinov was one of those Stalin wanted to destroy. He was on
the brink of the abyss. The same lot that had befallen his colleagues,
was lying in wait for him. All Litvinov’s people died in prison. And all
of them have been posthumously reinstated, including Pavel Nazarov.
Here is an extract from a reinstatement paper: “In view of newly-
established circumstances, the sentence of the military tribunal has
been annulled, and the case has been closed owing to the absence of a
criminal offence.”

After returning from her prison camp in 1958, Nazarov’s wife was
invited to the district committee of the Party, and told her husband
was considered a member of the CPSU since 1931, while his expulsion
was invalidated.

A few days after the above events, an ukase was published, reliev-
ing Litvinov of his post. The world reacted with dismay. Nearly in
all countries, urgent cabinet meetings were called to discuss the situa-
tion. A sharp change was expected in Soviet foreign policy.

Alexandra Kollontai, then Soviet ambassador in Stockholm, put
down in her diary: “Litvinov has left the post of Foreign Commissar.
This has created a commotion in Sweden and all over the world,
friends have been calling all day. Doctor Ada Nilsson, a sincere
friend, came running to find out what has happened. I have never seen
her so confused.

“F.very country has its own version of Litvinov’s resignation. The
Finns say he was dismissed because he failed to settle the question of
the Aland Islands. The British and French say it was because he failed
to reach an agreement with the former World War allies.

“Nazi Germany is elated. Officials in Hitler’s hierarchy are rejoic-

* Now Kuibyshev.

296

; n g They are happy Litvinov, who had all these years fought fierce-
ly against German arming, has left the stage. Enemies of the Soviet
Union are yelling about a split in Soviet ruling circles.

“What is Litvinov thinking about? Litvinov, who has been a whole

era? His name is inscribed in history...”

The world press wrote prolifically of Litvinov’s resignation. Journal-
ists and diplomats, writers and statesmen, made conjectures and
guesses. Expressing the concern of French progressives, Edouard
Herriot said that the last great friend of collective security had stepped
down.

Stalin was, naturally, aware that the resignation of a statesman
whose name was closely associated with the Soviet Union s foreign
policy of peace would unavoidably create an undesirable reaction
among the Soviet Union’s friends abroad, and above all among na-
tions that were pinning special hopes on the Soviet Union in face of
the increasing Nazi threat. He knew this, and took time to make up
his mind. Litvinov’s prestige at home and abroad was very high.

But now the step was taken, and had to be justified. In a speech
on October 31, 1939, Molotov introduced a new formula, “primitive
anti-fascism”, which was quickly picked up by obsequious lecturers.
This confusing and demoralising statement was made at a time when
Hitler had already started the Second World War and was conducting
military, political, and diplomatic preparations for an attack on the
Soviet Union.

Litvinov disappeared from the political scene. He devoted himself
to private life if that description is fitting to describe his first retire-
ment. Initially, he and his family stayed at the summer house near
Moscow, then he was given a city flat. No one came to see him. The
first person to visit Litvinov was Boris Stein. Anastasia Petrova came

too. Litvinov was happy to see them.

He followed the march of world events with concentrated atten-
tion. The picture was not a happy one. The British and French were
still playing their dual game, prodding Germany to make war on the
Soviet Union, and conducting separate negotiations with Hitler. Firm
and swift action was essential. The country had to win time and pre-
pare to defend itself. Negotiations with Germany proved unavoidable.

Hitler’s Foreign Minister von Ribbcntrop flew in to Moscow on
August 23, and a non-aggression pact with Germany was signed on

the same day. uni

In the evening, Chaikovsky’s “Swan Lake was shown at the Bol-
shoi with Galina Ulanova as Odctta-Odilia. Litvinov went to see it.
He was accompanied by a guard. This was his first appearance in pub-

297

lie after his resignation. Shortly before the curtain rose, Molotov and
Ribbentrop appeared in the government box. The orchestra played
the national anthem of Germany and the Internationale. Everybody
stood. There was applause. But Litvinov did not rise. He and his wife
were in the third row. No one came up to them. Not until the last
interval. Their old acquaintance, Nina Mirnaya, wife of the dismissed
Soviet diplomat Semyon Mirny, came up and said hello. Litvinov re-
marked, “Oh, you’re a brave woman.”

The dreary months of enforced inactivity dragged on slowly. Lit-
vinov spent most of the time in the country, walking in the woods.
He followed the papers closely. On rare occasions, his closest friends
visited him— Boris Stein, Yakov Surits (former Soviet ambassador to
France), and Anastasia Petrova. They spoke mainly of the weather,
of books, and of the new films.

In 1940, Litvinov wrote Stalin a letter, asking for a job. Not Sta-
lin but Andrei Zhdanov 65 summoned him and offered the post of
Chairman of the Committee for Culture. Litvinov turned the offer
down, saying it was not his field.

Some time later, Litvinov’s membership of the Party’s Central
Committee was terminated. At the Central Committee’s plenary meet-
ing, Litvinov was true to himself. A tense silence reigned in the hall.
Stalin was obviously intent on not letting Litvinov speak. But, as
many times before in his life, Litvinov did not wait to be denied a
hearing and walked to the rostrum uninvited.

“My more than forty years’ record as Party member obliges me to
say what I think of what has happened. I do not understand why I
am being dealt with in such peremptory style.”

He went on to say that it was necessary and possible to delay, if
not totally avoid, a war, and set forth his ideas of what the Soviet
Union should do vis-a-vis Britain and France. He said Germany intend-
ed to attack the Soviet Union. Of this, he added, he was deeply con-
vinced. Then he said there were hardly any old Bolsheviks left on the
Central Committee, and auite a number of Mensheviks, one of them
being Andrei Vyshinsky. 66

Litvinov spoke for ten minutes. One could hear a pin drop. Molo-
tov alone made heckling comments. Stalin, smoking his pipe, strode
slowly up and down the stage.

As soon as Litvinov finished, Stalin began to speak. He rejected
everything Litvinov had said. When he stopped speaking, Litvinov
faced him and asked:

“Docs that mean you consider me an enemy of the people?”

Stalin stopped, and said slowly:

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“We do not consider you an enemy of the people. We consider
you an honest revolutionary...”

Did Litvinov at that moment recall the now remote time when
he first met Stalin, shortly before the Party’s Fifth Congress? It had
been an uneasy congress which opened in London on April 30, 1907,
at 6.45 p.m. on the premises of a London church.

The previous few weeks, Litvinov had been on Party business
in Paris, living in an attic on Boulevard Pont Royal, lhe Party needed
money to lease premises and finance the coming of at least a mini-
mum of delegates. There was no choice but to appeal to Maxim Gor-
ky. The writer happened to be out of cash, but to help the Party he
asked a certain British millionaire to subsidise the congress. '1 he lat-
ter agreed (such things did happen) but wanted all delegates to sign
receipts for the money. Litvinov, who was the Party s treasurer, had
to deal with these things himself.

Delegates of the Tiflis branch of the Party came at the very end
of April. Among them was Joseph Djugashvili (Stalin). He had been
in Berlin the previous three months and was now going to London.
That was when, in Paris, Litvinov had first met him. He was 30 then,
and Stalin was 27. Litvinov was well known in the Party, Djugash-
vili-Stalin was known only for his activity in the Transcaucasus.
Litvinov took Stalin to his place at Pont Royal, showed him the
sights of Paris, spoke of London and various British customs. Then
they both left for the congress.

After the October Revolution, when Litvinov was appointed So-
viet Russia’s ambassador to Britain, the millionaire who had subsi-
dised the Fifth Congress asked Litvinov to return the debt, showing
the receipts he had from its delegates, including a receipt from Dju-
gashvili. It took all of Litvinov’s powers of persuasion to settle the
matter.

Now he faced Stalin, and the latter said, “We consider you an
honest revolutionary.” What Litvinov did not know was rhat a trial of
“enemy of the people Litvinov” was being rehearsed behind his back
with Stalin’s knowledge.

In those very days, in Beria’s office, Yevgeni Gnedin, chief of the
Foreign Commissariat’s Press Department, arrested in 1939, was being
interrogated. Beria and Kobulov, his deputy, sat on either side of Gne-
din and played a game they called “pendulum”, punching the man sitt-
ing between them on the side of the head with their fists. They kept hitt-
ing him for a long time, and demanded that he testify against Litvinov.

Gnedin lost consciousness, was revived, and the beating conti-
nued. His mouth bleeding, Gnedin said again and again:

299

“Litvinov is an honest man, a faithful son of the Communist Par-
ty and the people.”

After Litvinov’s resignation, the world press, government quarters,
and public leaders in various countries, speculated about the diplo-
mat’s future. There was the conjecture that he would share the lot
of his deputies and closest associates. The foreign press wondered
why he had survived the grim years of repression.

Since the question arose a long time ago, and speculation still
continues, an answer has to be given-especially now, when in the set-
ting of glasnost blank spots in the history of the Soviet Union are dis-
appearing one after another.

The fact that Litvinov enjoyed enormous prestige across the coun-
try cannot be the sole explanation. During the Stalin cult times, men
who held more prominent posts than Litvinov, members of the Par-
ty’s Political Bureau (which Litvinov was not), had been disgraced and
repressed. So, there must also have been other reasons.

By 1939, Litvinov was playing one of the leading roles in world
politics. Soviet diplomacy’s efforts for peace in the League of Nations
and at other international forums, were associated with his name. So
was the Soviet Union’s opposition to fascism.

Litvinov’s dismissal had caused elation in the upper echelons of
power in Nazi Germany. Conversely, it caused dismay in government
quarters and among the public in most countries of the world. And
Stalin had to reckon with that.

It must also have been important for Stalin that throughout his
revolutionary, political, and diplomatic activity, Litvinov had never
taken part in any factional group. For that was one of the factors Sta-
lin often used as a pretext for liquidating Party leaders and statesmen.

Furthermore, Litvinov was not repressed, I think , because Stalin
had kept him in reserve. This calls for an explanation.

A most suspicious and distrustful politician, Stalin was con-
vinced, however, that Germany would not breach the non-aggression
pact, at least for a fairly long time. Marshal Georgy Zhukov, in his
memoirs, described Stalin’s reaction to the news that Hitler’s armies
had attacked the Soviet Union as one of total prostration. His faith in
his own genius and foresight was badly shaken. To a circle of close
friends, Litvinov had once said about Stalin, “Eastern rulers and the
various shahs and other despots— those he will twist around his little
finger. But the Western world and Western politics— there he is out of
his depth.”

And June 22, 1941, the day Hitler attacked the Soviet Union, bore
this out.

300

Hitler Germany’s attack halted the secret preparations for Litvi-
nov’s trial, begun three months after his resignation. The war imposed
its own terms, and this in the diplomatic field as well. The prestige
Litvinov had earned by his pre-war activity could come in useful.
None other than Harry Hopkins, Roosevelt’s closest adviser, gave Sta-
lin to understand that the U.S. President would welcome Litvinov’s
return to a high diplomatic post, and wished-him to visit the United
States.

Chapter 1 1

THE COMEBACK

Everything is in perpetual motion— sometimes swift, sometimes
slow. Then something happens that changes things.

Litvinov’s enforced idleness was coming to an end. The early morn-
ing of June 22, 1941 began. He was up and about, then read the
papers. They reported one more football match, and an item said
thousands of vacationers were leaving for the Crimea and the Cauca-
sus. The reports about the world situation were unusually tranquil.
A war raged somewhere far away. The most important reports in the
central papers were given on the front page under a common heading.
Stop Press. He read the telegrams attentively, shaking his head. Havas
News Agency reported that French troops had moved out of Damas-
cus, and that British troops had moved in. Italy had closed its consu-
lates in the United States. The British government reported that
the country’s military expenditures of recent weeks had amounted
to 80.5 million pounds, and called on the people to use less coal, gas,
and electricity. There was also a cable from New York saying Ford
had signed an agreement with the Automobile Workers’ Union.*

After reading the papers, Litvinov went for a walk (accompanied
by a guard). It was ten in the morning, eight hours since the Nazis
had attacked the Soviet Union. Kiev, Minsk, Riga, Tallinn, and Smo-
lensk were already ablaze. Thousands of soldiers had already laid
down their lives on the border. Flames caused by German bombing
had already engulfed hospitals and orphanages. Children were dying

in agony...

On returning from his walk, Litvinov switched on the radio. An
excited voice said to stand by for an important communication.

* From 1939 to 1941, up to the beginning of the war, I was in charge of the
foreign news department of the newspaper Trud. 1 was at the paper’s printshop
during the night of June 21-22, and recall receiving the TASS copy cited above
and having the items put on the front page under the Stop Press head. At four
in the morning 1 called TASS and asked if anything else of importance would
come in. A sleepy voice said nothing more was expected, and I “put the paper
to bed”.— Author.

302

Litvinov and Boris Stein, who was with him, wondered what it would
be. A few seconds later, Molotov announced over the radio that war
had broken out.

“That seals Hitler’s fate,” Litvinov said.

He wrote two letters-one to Molotov, asking for a job, and the
other to the blood transfusion centre, offering his blood for the
wounded.

The blood transfusion centre replied immediately. It thanked him
and said courteously that the blood of 65-year-old people was not
needed so far; they would let him know if it would be.

Molotov summoned him a few days later. His speech was dry and
official. He asked what job Litvinov expected. Litvinov replied,
“Your job, of course.”

That was the end of their conversation.

Soon there was a call from the Kremlin. Stalin asked him to come,
for there would be a talk with foreign diplomats.

Litvinov came in the clothes he had been wearing the last few
years. The Kremlin was the same as he had always known it-austere,
imposing, magnificent. But there were more military men around.
Litvinov walked slowly up the palace stairs, looking at people closely.

Umansky was the first person he knew whom he met in the cor-
ridor of the Kremlin Palace. The man smiled in embarrasment, search-
ing desperately for something to say.

“Maxim Maximovich, maybe I deserve to be amnestied?”

“Why amnestied?” Litvinov replied. You never broke the
law.”

The reception began a few minutes later. Stalin said hello, looked
at Litvinov’s clothes, and asked:

“Why not a black suit?”

Litvinov replied phlegmatically -.

“It’s moth-eaten.”

On the following day, Litvinov was re-enrolled in the People’s
Commissariat for Foreign Affairs.

The foreign press reported that Litvinov had been seen in the
Kremlin. Speculation began. American and British news agencies and
newspaper editors asked for articles and interviews. Litvinov began
writing. His articles appeared in British and American papers.

On July 8, late in the evening, Litvinov came to the Radio Com-
mittee. At Stalin’s request, he would speak on the radio, addressing
the English-speaking nations.

Yuri Kozlovsky, Litvinov’s former aide, who had been transferred
to the French Department of the Radio Committee in 1940, recol-
lected: “I was in the corridor at the radio station when Litvinov

303

appeared. He was very modestly dressed, and had a walking stick.”

“What are you doing here, Maxim Maximovich?” Kozlovsky asked.

“I’ve come to speak on the radio,” Litvinov replied, and asked
Kozlovsky how he was.

French writer Jean Richard Bloch had spoken before Litvinov.
“Litvinov asked about him,” Kozlovsky related, “then stepped into
the studio.”

Two hours later, teletypewriters in the editorial offices of Mos-
cow’s newspapers called attention to an important report: Litvinov
had spoken in English, telling listeners what he thought of the current
situation, and describing Hitler’s evil plan— attacking countries one by
one in a bid to gain world supremacy.

A few hours later, news agencies reported that America, Britain,
Canada, and Australia had heard Litvinov’s radio talk. He called on all
nations to deny Hitler time for respite, to hit back all together, with
the maximum energy. Litvinov’s talk ended with the following words,
“The peoples of the Soviet Union... have risen as one man to fight
a patriotic war against Hitlerism, and will fight that war along with
other freedom-loving peoples until fascist obscurantism and barbarity
are wiped out.”

The talk was published in all Soviet newspapers. During the sum-
mer, Litvinov made a few more radio appearances. On August 15 he
wrote to his wife in Kuibyshev: “Received a telegram from the editor
of Reynolds News, asking for a contribution. I sent one, but had
difficulties with the translation. I have neither a stenographer nor an
English typist, and cannot write by hand. So I had the piece translated
at the Informbureau, but the translation wasn’t good enough. I had to
make corrections, and there was no one to retype the copy, and I

( don’t even have a typewriter. I’m writing this, so you’ll know how
much I miss you.

“I really do think of you all the time. Sometimes I have qualms
of conscience for sending you away too early. You must be suffering
discomforts and privations. But it was impossible to know the right
time, and, generally speaking, it was better and inevitable that you
should go to a safe place. Here, in Moscow, there’s nothing new. I pay
no attention to the air-raid warnings.”

In those few months, Litvinov lived in the country. The chief of
the guards was worried: now his orders were not only to guard, but
also to protect Litvinov, while the latter paid no attention to enemy
planes, even when they were dropping bombs. The guards had dug
trenches round the house, but he refused to hide in them.

One day, when enemy planes were practically overhead, and things
thundered all around, one of the guards, in total dismay, shouted,

304

“Lie down!” Litvinov turned, looked him in the face, and asked,

“What did you say?”

Litvinov had his radio talks as before, and wrote for the foreign
press. Stalin welcomed it. He knew Litvinov’s prestige would win
friends for the Soviet Union, especially in the United States and
Britain.

But Litvinov’s goodwill mission ended as abruptly as it began.
Foreign correspondents had often asked him what he thought of the
Soviet-German pact. He evaded the question, but finally, after mulling
it over, decided to speak his mind. I think this calls for a closer look,
because, among other things, enemies of the Soviet Union ascribed
to him what he never said.

A shrewd politician, a Leninist to the marrow', a man who knew
that sometimes compromise was essential, Litvinov came to the con-
clusion that the non-aggression pact with Germany had been unavoid-
able, that the Soviet government had had no other choice in 1939.
Its long and resolute promotion of a collective security system had
foundered on the resistance of the British and French. Ihc imperial-
ists in those two countries, Litvinov told the foreign correspondents,
“had done everything they could to goad Hitler Germany against
the Soviet Union by secret deals and provocative moves. In the cir-
cumstances, the Soviet Union could either accept the German propo-
sal for a non-aggression treaty and thus secure a period of peace in
which to redouble preparations to repulse the aggressor, or turn down
Germany’s proposal and let the warmongers in the Western camp push
the Soviet Union into an armed coflict with Germany in unfavourable
circumstances and in a setting of complete isolation. In this situation,
the Soviet government was compelled to make the difficult choice
and conclude a non-aggression treaty with Germany.”

Litvinov added, “I, too, would probably have concluded a pact
with Germany, though a bit differently.”

That was what Litvinov said to the foreign correspondents. The
text was later handed to Molotov for approval. The latter said it
should not go on the air. Litvinov was suspended for giving an unau-
thorised interview to foreign journalists.

Again, dreary days began. Litvinov saw nobody, and spent most
of his time in the country, walking in the woods.

Came the first wartime autumn. The Germans were advancing all
along the front. In the north they had come close to Murmansk, in
the south they controlled nearly all of the Ukraine and were poised
to lunge into the Caucasus, hoping to capture the oil-bearing regions
and thrust towards the Middle East.

20-01072

305

The situation around Moscow was grim. More than 70 infantry,
tank and motorised Nazi divisions were massed there. Hitler hoped
to gain possession of the capital before the winter’s cold. On Octo-
ber 2, the Germans launched a ferocious offensive. They struck from
east of Smolensk, bypassing Kalinin in the north and Bryansk in the
southwest. They captured Vyazma, then Gzhatsk. They were near
the gateway to Moscow, the town of Mozhaisk, and seized it in a
hard-fought battle. Then, in a bid to envelop Moscow, they took
Volokolamsk, and reached the close approaches to the capital.

In the morning of October 16, factories began closing down in
Moscow. Crowds of people streamed east along Gorky Highway,
blocked up as it was with army lorries, guns, and carts that were going
the other way, to the frontlines.

Soviet resistance increased from day to day. The German rate of
advance dropped accordingly. Divisions from Siberia and the Urals
were hastening to Moscow’s aid. Positioned close to the capital,
the Soviet troops would deliver a crushing blow. Dropping their
arms, bleeding, leaving their dead behind, the Germans rolled back.
The Red Army buried Hitler’s maniacal plans right there, close to

Moscow, when it already seemed he had reached his goal.

■

In the evening of October 16, the chief of the guards asked Litvi-
nov to leave for Kuibyshev at once. He was confused, said only two
or three hours were left to get away, and begged Litvinov to hurry.
If they missed the train, there was no telling how they would leave.

Litvinov replied indifferently that, in effect, he was ready to go at
once, all his possessions were on him, there was nothing he wanted
to pack.

In the unheated, frosty railway car, Litvinov was given a compart-
ment. His guard came with him. The train was slow, kept stopping
time after time, was detained at stations for hours, letting military
trains go by. It arrived in Kuibyshev on the seventh day. By the end
of October most of the commissariats and other central offices had
been evacuated there. The city was overcrowded. Litvinov’s family
lived in a tiny flat. His secretary, Anastasia Petrova, stayed with them.

After the unhappy business of the interview which had aroused
Molotov’s anger, Litvinov had stayed on the payroll as a Foreign
Commissariat adviser. Save for a small group, the entire Commissariat
had also been evacuated to Kuibyshev, Litvinov was told to turn up
at work every day. He did so reluctantly because he saw no sense in it.

In the evenings, friends would drop in. The writer Ilya F.hrcnburg
lived across the street, so did the diplomats Umansky and Yevgeny
Rubinin. Umansky had been recalled from the embassy in Ameri-

306

ca, but, for some reason, was not being sent back. He was troubled by
it and waited impatiently for orders to fly to the United States. Ru-
binin, former Soviet ambassador in Belgium, had returned to Moscow
after the Nazis overran that country, and was also retained in the
diplomatic service. Soon, composer Dmitry Shostakovich, evacuated
from beleaguered Leningrad with his wife and two children, moved
into a flat a floor below Litvinov’s. From then on music sounded in
the house: Shostakovich was putting finishing touches to his Seventh
Symphony.

Early in November 1941, things looked up for Litvinov.

After Hitler Germany had attacked the Soviet Union, statesmen in
Britain and the United States declared their countries would aid it. But
in the anti-Hitler coalition, deep-going differences remained between
the socialist Soviet Union and its imperialist partners. It was important
to expand ties with the USA, where certain quarters cynically advised
Washington to look on while the Soviet Union bled to death.

The ambassador to the United States should be a man with prestige
and personal contacts with President Roosevelt.

Late one night, Molotov called from Moscow. He asked the man on
duty at the Foreign Commissariat if he knew where Litvinov lived.
He ordered him to go to Litvinov’s house at once and say he had
been appointed Deputy People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs and
Soviet Ambassador to the United States. He was to say the appoint-
ment was made by Stalin. “Watch his face. See how he reacts,’’
Molotov added, “and report to me at once.”

The man on duty, a young lad, was about to say he was not sure he
would cope with the assignment, and ask Molotov to send someone
more competent. But Molotov had put down the phone.

Ten minutes later the young lad was in the tiny hall of Litvinov’s
flat. Litvinov, wearing an old housecoat, heard him out, mumbled
something, and asked:

“Couldn’t they find some other way of informing me?”

“Excuse me, Comrade Litvinov, but I’m carrying out orders, and
must have your reply,” the embarrassed young man answered.

A long pause ensued. Litvinov seemed to be concentrating. Finally,
he said:

“Well, there can be only one answer. There’s a war, and I’m ready
for any assignment.”

“Molotov said to ask when you can leave.”

“It won’t take long,” Litvinov said.

“You must fly to Moscow at once. Comrade Stalin is waiting. The
plane is standing by. D’you need any help?”

307

“Thank you, I need nothing.”

The young man returned to the office, and reported his conver-
sation to Molotov. Molotov asked him to repeat everything Litvinov
had said word for word.

There are times in the life of every man when he feels an extraor-
dinary influx of energy, proud that someone needs him, that he is
involved in something big. He is capable of extraordinary achieve-
ments, exploits, or discoveries. That was the feeling Litvinov had that
night in Kuibyshev. Controlling his emotions, he told the family that
he had been called up again, that he was back in harness. The follow-
ing day, he flew to Moscow.

The flight from Kuibyshev to Moscow is described in his memoirs
by Nikolai Palgunov, the then chief of the Foreign Commissariat’s
Press Department who later became General Director of TASS, the
Soviet news agency:

“We took off around 11 a.m. on November 9. The plane was fully
loaded. It had a revolving turret, and after two hours in the air the
radioman, a soldier, took up his station beside the machine-gun.
Among the passengers were Maxim Litvinov, who had just been appoint-
ed ambassador to the United States, two generals, my subordinate
V. V. Kozhcmiako, a few men from the Council of People’s Commis-
sars, and me... We were approaching Noginsk when the pilot was or-
dered to turn back. Germans were bombing the place. We flew low,
almost touching the treetops. A new radio despatch said to wait a few
minutes, the Germans seemed to be leaving. We flew circles over the
forest. One more radio message said enemy planes were bombing the
Noginsk-Moscow road. The orders were to land in Noginsk. We did,
and a quarter of an hour later they found a coach for us, and we set
out for Moscow. Nazi planes were circling overhead. It was quite dark.
The Germans fired flares, lighting up the terrain. Flak was popping
somewhere nearby. Nazi bombs burst in the vicinity. We arrived in
Moscow late at night, in complete darkness. Planes roared over the
city: an air alarm.”

The city had changed. At this time of the year, the Moscow boule-
vards were usually filled with children, their ringing voices welcoming
the first snow. Now only soldiers were to be seen in the streets, and
lorries carrying barrage balloons. Moscow looked grim, shabby, and
quiet. In factories and workshops, and at railway stations people
were hard at work. Along the roads troops marched, and in the dug-
outs near Perkhushkovo where General of the Army Zhukov had his
headquarters, the regiments were poised for the powerful, perfectly
timed strike that would drive Hitler’s armies away from Moscow.

308

Litvinov arrived at the Kremlin at the appointed hour, and was
immediately received by Stalin. The first few months of the war had
evidently not been easy. Stalin’s visage, always severe and withdrawn,
had become still more so, and dark circles had appeared under his
eyes. He wore his usual semi-military costume. Litvinov was dressed
in the suit he had put on for the diplomatic reception in the early
days of the war. This time, Stalin made no comment about his
clothes. He was cordial, and welcomed him warmly.

Molotov was present, but sat at the back of the room in silence.

Stalin and Litvinov sat down facing each other. Stalin let sleeping
dogs lie, as though there had been no removal from the Central Com-
mittee on that fateful night in May 1939. He was not in the habit of
making excuses. The other reason why he did not refer to the past was
that he knew' Litviov well— for nearly 40 years. And he got down to
business at once, speaking of Litvinov’s diplomatic mission in his
usual, somewhat thick voice.

The main thing was to prod the Americans into action. The sooner
they entered the war, the better. Stalin knew the difficulties Roose-
velt faced. He knew, too, that the President was not over-eager to help
the Soviets. But the President w'as clever, and far-sighted.

Litvinov listened attentively.

“I’d like to know more about the war situation,” he said in the
end. “I’ll have to appear before the American public, and want to be
abreast of the latest news.”

“Very well,” Stalin replied, and looked in Molotov’s direction.
After a pause, he continued;

“Comrade Litvinov, you’ll have to devote yourself to war supplies.
They’re important, and doubly so because at the moment we’re only
converting our industry to wartime.”

Litvinov asked about Umansky, who would now be out of a job.
Stalin glanced at Molotov again, and said they would find something
for Umansky to do. Molotov nodded.

Knowing this was the moment when the future of a man, whom
he considered a most capable diplomat, was hanging in the balance,
Litvinov immediately asked:

“That means Umansky will stay with us, in the Foreign Commis-
sariat, as a member of the Collegium?”

“Yes, as a member of the Collegium,” Stalin replied.

Litvinov asked whom he could take along to the United States.
Stalin said he could choose anyone he wanted, bade him farewell,
and wished him a good trip.

That evening, Litvinov flew back to Kuibyshev. The weather was
bad, and the plane had to make a forced landing in Penza. There was

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no place to stay the night at the poorly equipped airport. On learning
that Litvinov was among the passengers, the airport chief offered him
his office to stay in. At first, Litvinov refused the offer, then had sec-
ond thoughts: he had to be rested the following day. But sleep did
not come, and he went outdoors. The sky was clouded, a blizzard was
raising clouds of snow. The airport chief, too, was not asleep. He
followed Litvinov around, seemed to want to ask him something, but
did not dare. Litvinov turned to him with a most prosaic question:
where was the toilet? The toilet? They had none, the airport chief
said, and added Litvinov could pick whatever spot he liked. He in-
vited him to use the porch. Litvinov chuckled, for the first time in
three years.

A flight of 30,000 kilometres lay ahead, from Kuibyshev to Wash-
ington across Asia along a giant arc marked by Astrakhan, Baku,
Tcheren, Baghdad, Basra, Calcutta, Bangkok, Singapore, the Philip-
pines, and Hawaii. The western route across the Atlantic was unsafe.

On November 12, 1941, Litvinov and his wife, and Anastasia
Petrova, took off from Kuibyshev aboard a Douglas plane armed with
a machine-gun in case of an encounter with Nazi planes. They arrived
safely in Astrakhan, then landed in Baku. From Baku they flew to
Teheran, where they were to board a British warplane. But when
Litvinov and his companions came to the airport at the fixed time,
they found out that the aircraft had taken off five minutes before.
Why it had left ahead of schedule could not be determined. And the
next plane was in three days. Since Litvinov had not turned up in
Baghdad at the specified time, rumours spread that he was missing.
A question to that effect was asked in British Parliament. In the
meantime, Litvinov took off from Teheran in another plane. In Iraq
it landed at a British war base near Lake Habbaniya. As they were
coming in for the landing, the surrounding terrain looked deserted.
But once on the ground, Litvinov saw the British had built a comfort-
able oasis for themselves amidst the desert, with little gardens, and
even four miniature churches. The airfield chief resided in a splendid
villa, where he had hot water and magnificent bathrooms. Noiseless
servants in white Arab gowns moved about the place, and reverently
asked Litvinov’s wife and secretary if they wanted their dresses ironed
for dinner and the reception. Yet those two ladies had nothing to
wear for dinner aside from what they had on them, let alone evening
gowns for the reception.

Litvinov was given the best room in the villa, with a bath and other
amenities. Thinking back to the Penza airfield, he jested, “I shan’t
need a porch here.”

The Habbaniya garrison had recently been besieged by local re-
bels. But that was forgotten. They had dinner parties and dances,
gossip, tennis competitions, and intelligence officers wearing romantic
bournouses mesmerised the ladies by their resemblance to the leg-
endary Lawrence of Arabia. All this was in striking contrast to what
was happening in Europe.

From Habbaniya, Litvinov and his companions left for India
aboard a flying-boat.

The flight across the East gave Litvinov an opportunity to see the
extraordinary Oriental world with its fabulous wealth on one pole
and abject poverty on the other.

After a brief stopover in Calcutta, the Litvinovs flew to Bangkok.
Here, as in India, he was received with the traditional flowers, and
heard many kind words about the Soviet Union and himself. A Sia-
mese government spokesman made a speech in Russian. He had been
a trainee at a Russian military school. But that was not the only
surprise. While speeches were made and the official ceremony went
on, Litvinov saw a group of Buddhist monks in orange gowns, stand-
ing silent and motionless. Having shaken hands with the diplomats
and public leaders, Litvinov approached the monks. To his surprise,
they raised their hands, clenched their fists, and exclaimed in fluent
Russian: “Long live the great Soviet Union! Long live the heroic
Red Army! ”

The monks turned out to be Letts. Before the Revolution, they
had adopted Buddhism, and stayed in the cells of the Buddhist temple
in St. Petersburg. After the Revolution, they left the country because
they did not know how the Soviets would treat Buddhist monks.
They had wandered about the world a lot, and finally settled in Bang-
kok. The successes of the Soviet Union excited them. They admired
the Red Army. The authorities did not like it. Later, one Lettish
monk was savagely murdered.

The heat in Rangoon, which was the next stop, was unbearable. The
British Governor-General invited the Litvinovs to a reception. The
palace where it was held seemed to have been taken out of a fairy-tale.
The Governor-General’s wife showed the Soviet visitors all its marvels,
enhancing her husband’s prestige.

But the war was about to encroach on this corner of the globe as
well. Japan was building up its forces in Indochina. The complacency
of the local civilian and military authorities was astonishing. In Sin-
gapore, too, the commander of the British garrison bragged that the
city was an unapproachable fortress. Though he was strictly a civilian,
Litvinov could not help asking why they had no air-raid training, and

310

311

why there was no sign of preparation for a possible aggression. The
commander assured him that the fortress was ready for battle. But
when the Japanese attacked a little later, Singapore fell almost at
once: it had no stores of potable water.

The same complacency could be observed on the Philippines, and
even at the U.S. naval bases on Wake and Midway. What surprised
Litvinov were the endless parties, with fireworks lighting up the skies
after dark, the houseboat outings and joy rides on yachts and launches.

On Midway, walking on the beach and listening to the sweet
sounds of a dance band playing in the park, Litvinov thought of
blackcd-out unheated, beleaguered Moscow, and its heroic defenders.
Mis heart contracted.

Guam was the last stop before Hawaii. Here Litvinov did see pre-
parations for war. Officers were packing their wives and children
home to the United States, but were doing it reluctantly, as though
disbelieving the prospect of war in this quiet, uncommonly beautiful
corner of the world.

Litvinov wasted no time in Guam. He flew at once to Hawaii.
The fabulous Hawaii Islands had a hlue sky overhead, tropical vege-
tation that defied the imagination, and an untroubled, tranquil,
complacent American garrison.

The general in charge of the garrison was a jolly man, full of ques-
tions about F.urope, who brushed away the questions that Litvinov
had asked at all the other stopovers— why there was no blackout
training, and why people were so complacent about a possible enemy
attack? But this did not trouble the general, though it was December
4, 1941, and the attack on Pearl Harbour which cost thousands of
American lives and saw the destruction of America’s biggest and best
warships, was just a few days away.

On December 5, the Litvinovs took off from Hawaii on one of the
last civilian planes. After circling over Honolulu as tradition required,
the plane headed for San Francisco on a 20-hour non-stop flight
across the Pacific. Litvinov put down his impressions in a letter to
his son and daughter. “Dear Misha and Tania,” he wrote, “our impres-
sions are so numerous we can hardly digest them. This was the first
time we saw palms, coconuts, rubber trees, and sugarcane plantations.
The flying was extremely tiring, especially flying over the Pacific,
with nothing to rest our eyes on except clouds and ocean waves.
None of us was airsick, but when the aircraft ascended to 17,000 feet,
my heart condition made itself felt. During the last hours of our jour-
ney 1 was exhausted and had to have oxygen.”

On December 6, Litvinov arrived in San Francisco— 22 days and
nights, and 26,000 kilometres, after the take-off in Kuibyshev. In San

312

Francisco, Litvinov was met by a counsellor of the Soviet Embassy,
who had flown in from Washington, and the entire staff of the
local Soviet Consulate. Pravda carried a detailed report of that
event:

“Comrade Litvinov, Soviet Ambassador Extraordinary and Pleni-
potentiary to the United States, arrived in San Francisco on his way to
Washington on December 6. He was met by representatives of the U.S.
State Department, the American Army and Navy, and the local San
Francisco authorities. Also at the airfield to meet him were represen-
tatives of the Soviet Embassy and the Soviet Consulate-General in
San Francisco.

“Litvinov’s arrival aroused enormous interest in the United States.
He was virtually besieged by countless newspaper correspondents,
photographers, and newsreel cameramen.

“Litvinov made a short speech over the National Broadcasting
Company’s radio network, greeting the people of America and stress-
ing the determination of the Soviet Union to fight until final victory.”
A breakfast was held at the Soviet Consulate. Everybody was in
high spirits. The Embassy counsellor made a brief speech. lie wel-
comed Litvinov, mentioned his diplomatic services, then referred to
Litvinov’s predecessor in Washington:

“Our Embassy leadership had been immature. Now we are going
to have an outstanding leader,” he said.

Litvinov’s retort was short: “Before leaving Moscow I was received
by Comrade Stalin. He told me the line followed by my predecessor.
Comrade Umansky, had been correct.”

A hush fell over the room. Litvinov said there was no time to
waste. Two hours later, he took off for Washington in a special plane.

The aircraft headed east across America. Below were the giant
plateaus of Colorado and Nebraska, and the prairies of Dakota. Of
this flight, Litvinov would write to his children: “It was the most
comfortable of all the planes we had, and 1 took a splendid nap.”
At the airfield in Washington, a large crowd of people had gathered
to meet Litvinov. There were representatives of the State Department,
numerous journalists and cameramen, former ambassador to Moscow
Joseph Davies, writers, actors, businessmen, and clerks from govern-
ment offices and private firms. Many had brought flowers. Litvinov
was asked for an interview. He walked through the crowd of journal-
ists to the microphone to tell the people of America why he had
come:

“My first visit to this capital,” he said, “took place at a most vital
moment. This time I have come at an even more vital time, when the
future of all nations, all humanity, is hanging in the balance. I know

313

that the American people are following events on the Eastern Front
with tremendous interest and sympathy. And 1 can assure the Ameri-
can people that the Red Army and all the armed forces of the Soviet
Union will carry on the struggle against Hitler Germany with the same
resolve and courage that have won approval and admiration through-
out the world.”

Litvinov was quite prepared for the isolationists, who he expect-
ed to oppose his utterances and campaign against him. But a few
hours after Litvinov’s arrival in Washington, the inevitable and predict-
able had happened. All radio stations in the United States broad-
cast an urgent report: the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbour, were
destroying the U.S. Navy, and bombing Honolulu.

Later, Litvinov would write to Moscow: ‘ The uncalled for delays
in Teheran and Baghdad (through the fault of the English), on
account of which I had had to renounce the shorter route to America
and turn east, annoyed and even embittered me, but, as though in
recompense, we had good luck in Honolulu. We arrived there on a
Friday and were to take an American clipper, which flew to the States
once a week on Wednesdays. As luck would have it, the previous clip-
per had arrived from San Francisco with a considerable delay and
took off on Sunday instead of Wednesday. We were aboard. If we had
stayed until Wednesday, we would have been there during the Japa-
nese bombing or would probably have had to turn back to Iraq. The
Japanese air and sea-borne attack on Honolulu occurred a day and a
half after our departure.”

December 1941 was an agonising time for the American people.
On December 6, the press had carried a Tokyo statement that Japan
and the United States were negotiating in a spirit of sincerity to find
a common formula for a peaceful solution in the Pacific.

Nothing indicated a storm. The average American went quietly
about his business. Official Washington lived its measured life. Sud-
denly everything changed. The events developed precipitously. Secre-
tary of the Navy Knox announced the estimated losses at Pearl Har-
bour: 19 ships badly damaged; none of the 8 battleships had survived;
nearly 3,000 men and officers were killed. A blackout was ordered
along the entire shoreline from Seattle to the /Vlexican border. Mines
were laid outside New York harbour.

All America tuned in to the newscasts. Roosevelt spoke in Con-
gress, his each phrase a hammerblow: ‘‘The attack yesterday on the
Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and
military forces. Very many American lives have been lost. In addition,
American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas be-
tween San Francisco and Honolulu. Yesterday the Japanese Govcrn-

314

ment also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night Japanese
forces attacked Guam. Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philip-
pine Islands. Last night the Japanese attacked W'ake Island. I his
morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island... I ask Congress to
declare that a state of war exists between the United States and the
lapanese Empire as of December 7, 1941.”

Americans began to realise that the Pacific and Atlantic oceans
were not large enough to let them sit out the war impassively.

Litvinov received an avalanche of letters and telegrams. They came
from factory workers, film stars, millionaires, pastors, journalists
writers, farmers, and fishermen. He rejoiced over the popularity of
the Soviet Union. How times had changed! Only eight years hat
passed since he visited the USA first. Most Americans had badly
distorted ideas about the Soviet Union. Industrialisation had only just
begun. Powerful capitalist America gloated: you won’t manage, you
won’t cope, your fantastic plans will collapse. But Roosevelt was more

farsighted, more pragmatic.

Now, the Soviet Union, locked in combat with Nazi Germany,
was saving not only itself but the whole world. People in the street
would stop Litvinov and slap him on the back: ‘‘You’re Mr. Litvinov,

I saw your picture in the papers.’

The Red Army was winning universal admiration. But it was on y
the beginning. Several years of hard fighting still lay ahead. He knew
how difficult it would be to arouse people in America, how difticu
it would be to make the foes of the Soviet Union relent.

On December 8, Litvinov was invited to the White House. He went
there with the hope he and Roosevelt would establish the sort of con-
tact that transcends protocol, that sees both partners follow the
principle of mutual advantage and benefit for their nations, that
prompts them to try and understand each other rather 1 than convert

each other to their own faith. .

Roosevelt received Litvinov amiably. The address he had just made
in Congress and over the radio had fatigued him. He tried to be opti-
mistic, but could not hide his alarm. .

The President’s schedule was timed to the minute. The official
ceremony at which Litvinov submitted his credentials was begun
without delay. Journalists literally besieged the White House. Cam-
eramen switched on their spotlights. Newscasters stood by, ready to
broadcast the report of the Soviet diplomat’s first official visit.

Litvinov had had no opportunity to rest up after the flight from
San Francisco. His eyes were inflamed, he had a shooting pain in his
heart But, as usual, he was poised, collected, concentrated on the

335

thought that he must bring home to the Americans that the war had
reached their shores, that the fighting would have to be done together.
He made this the over-riding idea in his speech. He spoke of the threat
to the world of Hitler’s criminal programme to destroy the political
and economic independence of all lands, and to enslave all nations.
Yes, all nations. Let none think they could simply look on from the
sidelines. Litvinov stressed that the most painful blows had fallen
to the lot of the Soviet Union. He referred to the armada that had
attacked America in the East, saying that it, too, was activated by the
same fascist ideology.

When Litvinov ended his speech, Roosevelt smiled. He was pleased.
Now it was his turn to speak. He began by giving his opinion of
the Soviet diplomat. He said it was a good thing in these tragic days,
when mutual understanding and confidence between the Soviet Union
and the United States was so critically necessary for the two countries
and the future of mankind, that the Soviet government had seen fit
to send as its representative to the United States a statesman who had
already held high office in his own country.

Roosevelt went on to note that Litvinov was entering on his duties
on a historic day— America would now also be fighting against Germany.

After the official ceremony, the President had a long talk with the
Soviet diplomat. What interested him most was whether the Soviet
Union expected Japan to go to war against it. Litvinov said Japan had
nothing to gain from a war against the Soviet Union. Asked by the
President how many divisions had been removed from the Eastern
Front, the Soviet diplomat answered evasively. He asked whether the
latest developments would affect the supplies the U.S. had promised
the Soviet Union. Roosevelt said no.

The newspaper people were told there would be no release on
Roosevelt’s talk with the Soviet ambassador. When Litvinov was about
to leave, Roosevelt said, “Max, why don’t you come over tonight for
a game of bridge, and bring your wife. Mrs. Roosevelt and I will be
glad to have you.”

Nine days after he had submitted his credentials, Litvinov would
write to his son and daughter at home:

“I have lots of work, many visits to make, and many visitors to
receive. No time to go for a walk or to relax. Terribly tired by even-
ing, and can’t get enough sleep. An ambassador in Washington has at
least twice as much work as an ambassador in any other capital. Some-
times I think I took on a job that’s too much for me at my age. Once I
tried going to a concert on the invitation of Egon Petri, but after the
first number I was summoned by the President, though I have been to
see him four times.”

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But neither his age nor his health, undermined by almost a life-
time of continuous tension— nothing could stop Litvinov from putting
all his heart into his job. He was a statesman again, helping to mobilise
against Nazism a country that was itself largely to blame for letting
Hitler do what he was doing in Europe. He, Litvinov, was urging that
enormous land with its powerful resources and its motley, slow-moving
Congress, its incredibly intricate political pattern, to put its back to
the wheel on the side of the freedom-loving nations.

If Litvinov were told he was doing a heroic job, he would not have
understood. He was simply doing his job, with no thought of rewards.
For him that was usual. He had functioned that way all his life.

In early December the Russian War Relief, which was collecting
aid for the Soviet Union and its Red Army, called a meeting in New
York’s Madison Square Garden. Litvinov flew r in from Washington.
The huge auditorium was filled to capacity. There was not even stand-
ing room. In front of the platform stood a guard of honour from
the Women’s Auxiliary Corps, handpicked, in uniforms designed by
the best modellers.

Litvinov ascended the platform to thunderous applause. He walked
up to the microphone. He had not spoken publicly for years. The last
time was in Geneva. He bagan in English, off the cuff, in simple and
clear sentences:

“My homeland, the Soviet Union, is locked in mortal struggle
against the fascist hordes...”

He spoke of people suffering in Nazi-occupied Smolensk and in the
Ukraine. He spoke of villages in Byelorussia that were being wiped off
the face of the earth. He spoke of hungry and tormented children,
of rape and destruction, and of Soviet soldiers standing up to Nazi
tanks.

You could hear a pin drop in the enormous hall. Then someone
wailed aloud. A woman from the first row ran up to the stage, un-
hooked a diamond necklace and flung it at Litvinov’s feet. She was
followed by others-they were contributing rings and bracelets. People
crowded round the platform, offering cheques. A man cried out, “Here’s
my contribution”, waving a cheque for 15,000 dollars. The pile of
cheques grew. The WACs from the guard of honour handed them up
to the platform. Madison Square Garden wept, wailed, and thundered.

Litvinov looked on quietly. Then he said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, what we need is a second front! ”

Litvinov came to the United States at a time of trial for the Soviet
Union. It was the 5th month since the Nazis had attacked Russia. Their

317

initial onslaught was costing it enormous losses in men and property.

The West was convinced the Soviet Union would soon go under.
The day after the Wehrmacht had lunged into the USSR, Secretary of
War Henry Stimson wrote to the President:

“For the past thirty hours 1 have done little but reflect upon the
German-Russian war and its effect upon our immediate policy. To
clarify my own views I have spent today in conference with the Chief
of Staff and the men in the War Plans Division of the General Staff.

I am glad to say that I find substantial unanimity upon the fundamen-
tal policy which they think should be followed by us...

“First. Here is their estimate of controlling facts-.

“1. Germany will be thoroughly occupied in beating Russia for a
minimum of one month and a possible maximum of three months...”

Roosevelt’s biographer, Robert F.. Sherwood, who cited Stimson s
memo in his book, writes that the immediate response of the isola-
tionists to this news was one of exultation, for “now they were free
to go berserk with the original Nazi party line that Hitler represented
the only bulwark against Bolshevism”.

A fortnight later, however, Joseph E. Davies, once ambassador to
Moscow, wrote the following memorandum: “The resistance of the
Russian Army has been more effective than was generally expected.”
But only a few people shared his view. Nor did they change their
minds at the end of 1941. U.S. industrialists were sure Soviet resist-
ance would break down any moment, and that it was therefore use-
less sending arms to Russia. Worse than useless, because the shipments
would fall into Hitler’s hands. Such was the mood of military men,
but also in political quarters in Washington and New York, and at high
level in the Department of State. Though Roosevelt had spoken in
favour of urgent aid to Soviet Russia, he, too, believed at that point in
making haste slowly.

The leading U.S. papers referred to a paradox that, as they put it,
was imaginable only in Dostoyevsky’s novels-. Germany had attacked
Soviet Russia. Japan had attacked the United States. But instead of
prevailing on the Soviets to declare w'ar on Japan, which was fighting
America, America declared war on Germany, which was not fighting
America.

The conclusion was that Soviet Russia must fight Japan or the
United States would not lift its little finger to help Russia. This pro-
paganda of the foes of the Soviet Union had a strongly negative effect
on the average American, who did not care to grasp the substance of
the matter. Still, the general public in the United States was friendly.
Many mass organisations had come out in favour of immediate aid to
the Soviet Union.

if s

318

The crushing defeat suffered by the German armies at the ap-
proaches to Moscow in December 1941 eroded the myth of German
invincibility. The Blitzkrieg was turning into a war of attrition, which
led to Germany’s inevitable defeat. Japan did not venture to join the
war against the USSR. Resistance grew in the Nazi-occupied lands.
The victory at Moscow had an enormous influence on the subsequent
course of the Second World War, and on the policy of the Western

P On January 1, 1942, in Washington, Roosevelt, Churchill, Litvinov,
and 23 ambassadors of other countries signed a Declaration with the
commitment to cooperate militarily and economically, and to refrain
from signing a separate peace or armistice with the enemy. The signa-
tories called themselves the United Nations.

The Declaration was an inspiration for democrats all over the
world. But the second front was still a long way off.

Watching the merry-go-round of U.S. life, Litvinov saw that the
Americans were not conscious of any burdens of war even after Pearl
Harbour. There were restrictions on gasoline and beef. No longer did
all average Americans drive their cars to work. Neighbours took turns
in driving each other. That settled the transport problem. The cut in
beef supplies caused no hardships cither. Besides, there were no re-
strictions on poultry and fish, and no rationing of other foods and
commodities. Restaurants and cafeterias, and the many other little
eateries, were all open.

Litvinov was irritated by the overly vigilant attention he was at-
tracting, especially in the early months. The ever-present and impor-
tunate reporters followed him about wherever he went. They wrote
at length about his habits, tastes, and traits of character. Litvinov
refused to abandon his Russian tunic, and had two new ones made.
The press immediately reported the event, and photographs of a tunic
were published. Even the braces he bought did not escape attention:
readers were told what kind he had picked and where he had bought
them.

Litvinov wrote home to his daughter 1 ania:

“Despite the war, the press is interested in our every step. Once
Mummy had chilblains, and limped. People bagan calling and giving
advice. We had to be inoculated against smallpox. As a result, Mummy
had a rash. The papers blew it up into a serious illness (though there’s
no rash any more). A strange land and strange people.”

The press did, indeed, watch Litvinov very closely. A U.S. jour-
nalist, Milton C. Mayer, wrote no one would have thought on seeing
Litvinov in the streets that he was the Soviet Ambassador to the

319

United States. No one would have thought he was the man who en-
dured all the vicissitudes of fate and was one of the handful who
were directing the giant United Nations war effort. Maxim Litvinov,
Mayer wrote, looked rather like a businessman engrossed in his
daily cares.

He wrote that Litvinov’s job was to represent Stalin and to work
out the grand strategy of the United Nations together with Roosevelt
and Churchill. Among his big problems was that of obtaining arms
for the Soviet Union. Litvinov, the writer added, was beyond ques-
tion one of the busiest men in the fantastically busy American capital.
The windows of Litvinov’s study were the last to go dark at night.

A widely read American weekly, This Week, wrote in its issue of
April 19, 1942, that Litvinov was the most revered person in official
Washington and among the public at large.

Litvinov’s popularity worked in one more most surprising way.
Letters came to the Soviet Embassy from all over America, claiming
their writers were relatives of the Soviet Ambassador. A Baltimore
tradesman named Litvin was more insistent than most. The papers
had carried Litvinov’s photograph at the airfield. He wore a coat and
white scarf. Litvin had a photograph of himself taken in a similar coat
and scarf, and had it published in the Baltimore Suti with Litvinov’s
photograph next to it. In an interview, he said he was from Vinnitsa,
Russia, where his name had been Litvinov, of which Litvin was an
abbreviation he had adopted in the United States.

What the tradesman did not know was that Litvinov was the Party
name of Russian revolutionary Max Wallach which had in due course
become his adopted surname. They could not be related. But Litvin
had had his bit of advertising.

The stream of “relatives” was so great, and the Baltimore trades-
man so importunate, that the Soviet Embassy was compelled to send
letters to private persons and newspaper offices saying Ambassador
Litvinov had no relatives in the United States.

But people would not leave Litvinov alone. A Hollywood motion
picture company wanted to make a film about him. Litvinov’s
reaction was negative, though not only filmmakers, but also politi-
cians friendly to the Soviet Union insisted it was a good idea. They
said it would promote Soviet popularity. Finally, Litvinov agreed. 1 he
actor who was to play him asked for permission to observe the Soviet
ambassador at work. He spent a few days in Litvinov s study, then
said Litvinov could not be impersonated. He sat motionlessly at his
desk. His image was static, and no image was possible without move-
ment.

To Litvinov’s joy, the film company abandoned the project.

320

But it was impossible to get rid of sensation-mongers. Life maga-
zine planned to devote an issue whole to “Ambassador Litvinov’s
Day”. It negotiated with the Soviet Embassy’s press attache, wishing
to record an entire day in the ambassador’s life: breakfast, reading the
mail, lunch, talks, receiving visitors, telephone conversations, and so
on. The journal assured the press attache its reporters and photo-
graphers would be careful not to interfere, and would immediately
retire if so asked.

The press attache was pleased. He believed the idea w'ould contri-
bute to the popularity of the Soviet Union in America. But when
Litvinov heard of it, he disapproved.

“No, they’ll follow me about and interfere with my work.”

“You must admit, however, it’s an attractive idea,” the press
attache observed.

Litvinov looked at the young diplomat over the top of his specta-
cles, his eyes sparkling with laughter. Stretching out his words, he
said, “Terr-rr-ibly att-ttr-active.”

The project was turned down. Not that Litvinov underestimated
the mass media. He knew the enormous role they played in the United
States. He spoke at meetings and conferences, and was quite willing
to receive journalists.

Bourgeois writers were inclined to refer scornfully to Soviet foreign
policy, especially in connection with what they called the Ribbentrop
pact. They hoped Litvinov, who had fallen from grace in 1939, would
speak negatively of Stalin’s and Molotov’s foreign policy. But Litvinov
stood firm: at press conferences he would examine the prewar policy
of Britain and France channelling the German threat in the direction
of the Soviet Union.

Litvinov spoke frequently in Washington, but preferred New York
and other industrial cities, where he could address the masses. At
meetings, he would appear in a Russian tunic rather than the black
diplomatic suit which he had had made to order for himself.

Americans were gaining respect for the Soviet Union and its army.
Former Russians set up societies calling for a second front in France
to case the pressure on Russia. Thousands of them wrote to the
Embassy, asking to be enrolled in the Red Army. A big part here was
played by the newspaper Russky Golos and the journal Soviet Russia
Today, put out by Jessica Smith, an old friend of Litvinov’s.

From time to time, the Soviet Embassy held receptions. All kinds
of people were invited. Millionaire Corliss Lemont was a frequent
visitor, as were Joseph Davies, ex-ambassador to Moscow, Polar
explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson, and Russian emigre Beloselsky-Belo-
zersky, who headed the local Russian War Relief organisations. The

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big map of the Soviet Union in the main hall, where the military
attache demonstrated the war situation, always attracted a crowd of
guests who asked countless questions.

Foreign diplomats from countries of the anti-Hitler coalition were
invariably present. Lord Halifax, British ambassador to the United
States and Litvinov’s old acquaintance, was also always there. The
Sov'iet warning that Litvinov had once sounded in Geneva that the
local fascist aggression in Spain would lead to a world war, had come
true. Now, Britain was reaping the bitter fruits of its policy. All that
Lord Halifax could now do was to thank the Red Army for its valiant
stand.

People from Nazi-occupied countries asked Litvinov for news from
the battlefields. They knew the future of their nation was being de-
cided on the Eastern Front.

In his conversations with foreign diplomats and at press confer-
ences Litvinov would often say seemingly trivial things which, howev-
er, gave to understand that Moscow was certain of victory.

“The Bolshoi Theatre is presenting Traviata today, you know,” he
would say, “and the Stanislavsky Theatre is presenting Straussiana."

At that time, the Germans were within a stone’s throw of Mozhaisk.

Three months after his arrival in the United States, Litvinov re-
ceived a request from Yemelyan Yaroslavsky to send him rhododendron
seeds. Litvinov told the press about it, and let the reporters draw their
own conclusions.

Litvinov saw his central diplomatic and political task in prevailing
on the United States to promptly open the second front. On January
20, 1942, he w'rote to the Foreign Commissariat: “Judging by the war
situation, we will manage to push the Germans back a little along the
entire front, but they are continuing to resist stubbornly. According
to available information, they are scraping the bottom of the barrel
in the occupied countries to send reinforcements to the Soviet front...
Should we not therefore raise the question of direct military
aid squarely and press for a second front on the European conti-
nent?”

Molotov’s reply came on February 4:

“We would welcome a second front in Europe by our Allies. But
surely you arc aware that our call for a second front has been turned
down three times, and we do not want a fourth refusal. Do not there-
fore speak of a second front with Roosevelt yet. Let us wait until,
perhaps, the Allies raise the question with us.”

It was clear to Litvinov that America had decided to make haste
slowly. On February 13, during a breakfast eye to eye with Roose-

velt, the latter asked the Soviet diplomat’s opinion about the prevail-
ing situation. Litvinov replied:

“Mr. President, I have no instructions from my government and
make no proposals whatsoever, but, if you u'ish, I’ll tell you what
I think. Soon, the course of events will leave us no choice. Since
Singapore and the Dutch East Indies have been lost, no bases are left
in the Pacific for an attack on Japan. That front will therefore remain
passive. The only front available for active operations is the European.
America and Britain will not be able to get at Japan until they destroy
Hitler.”

Roosevelt acquiesced, his tired eyes fixed on Litvinov’s face. He
said, however, that a landing in Western Europe was much too diffi-
cult an undertaking. Besides, he said, it would be hard to transport
reinforcements. And furthermore, the fighting capacity of the British
was none too high.

Acting on his government’s instructions Litvinov worked perse-
veringly for more military aid from America.

In one of his first talks with Roosevelt and other U.S. statesmen,
Litvinov set forth the Soviet view on military and political problems.
Some time later, at a conference in Philadelphia of the American Acad-
emy of Political and Social Science, he elucidated the Soviet view-
point to a broader segment of the American public.

Time magazine said of the Soviet position, as described by its
Ambassador, that it meant no Far Eastern front against Japan should
be opened, and the main blow should be directed against Hitler. The
German troops, it said citing Litvinov, had gone too far into the heart
of Russia, and would not escape destruction. The Russians would
fight to the end, until Hitler was totally broken. Hitler was interna-
tional public enemy number one. And his fall would also be the fall of
the other international gangsters— J apan, Italy, and their various
satellites. This, Time magazine said, led to the conclusion that the
Allies should concentrate on crushing Hitler.

But America’s industrialists were in no hurry. They waited for
further developments. If the Soviet Union fell, America would still
be safe with the Atlantic Ocean between it and the enemy. There
was no point, therefore, to irritate Hitler. This was also the viewpoint
of the politicians and the military. Roosevelt had his hands full to set
the enormous and intricate business world into motion. But he was
doing it.

A strange situation arose. The President was surrounded by a mul-
titude of diplomats representing capitalist countries. Litvinov was the
ambassador of a socialist state. Yet it was with Litvinov that Roose-
velt had cordial and friendly relations. Shocked by this relationship

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323

between the president of the most powerfulcapitaliststateandtheSoviet
diplomat who was a Communist, bourgeois historians were incapable
of reaching down to its sources. They wrote of it as of a riddle. Yet
there was no riddle. There was the intellect of a revolutionary faithful
to an idea of enormous power. There was a man who represented with
dignity a world that was foreign to Roosevelt, but a man who made
people respect him. And there were the contacts they had had in the
late autumn of 1933, which now grew into a dependable workmanlike
relationship cemented by mutual respect. In those difficult times,
when contending against fellow-countrymen who opposed him,
Roosevelt found support in Litvinov, in Litvinov’s confidence that the
Nazis would be beaten for sure. Besides, the activity of the Soviet
Embassy and the man in charge of it helped mould the kind of public
opinion in the country that Roosevelt needed to carry forward his
policy.

The isolationists had not put down their arms. They resisted
America’s war effort. The anti-Soviet forces in the country were
behind them. One such force was Rossiya, a rabidly reactionary Rus-
sian-language emigre paper, which called for rupturing relations with
the Soviet Union.

It was essential to bring home to Americans that, despite the
defeat in the Battle of Moscow, the Germans were still very strong,
and the war would be long and hard.

On February 26, 1942, Litvinov went to New York to address
American and foreign newsmen at the Overseas Press Club. The place
was crowded. Businessmen and public leaders had come too, aside
from journalists. The Soviet Ambassador outlined the immediate tasks
facing the countries of the anti-Hitler coalition, and stressed the deci-
sive importance of the Soviet-German front. He said that according
to information he had received from Moscow, Hitler was massing
forces for a spring offensive in a bid to make up for his defeat in the
Battle of Moscow. “We should like,” Litvinov said, “all the forces of
the Allies to be put into action by then, and that by then there should
be no idle armies, immobile navies, and stationary air fleets. This
applies also to military materials, which should be sent to the places
where they arc most needed.”

In spring 1942, Litvinov sent all the Embassy people who spoke
English to various American cities. They addressed mass meetings
in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and other major
industrial and cultural centres. This kept Americans informed of the
events on the Soviet-German front. Besides, considerable sums of
money were collected. To his daughter in Moscow, Litvinov wrote:
“Public speaking is one of the duties of an ambassador. Meetings in

324

various cities are organised here frequently by the friendly local Rus-
sian War Relief organisations, at which large sums of money are col-
lected. Once, Mummy went to a meeting instead of me, and was a big
success. As much as 25,000 dollars were contributed.”

Quite unexpected situations occurred at meetings sometimes.
Litvinov’s secretary, Petrova, once spoke at Wellesley College, an
establishment for wealthy American girls. Petrova had been asked to
speak on women’s role in the war. Not until after she had ascended
the platform, did the chairlady say the girls were expecting her to
speak about the importance of faith. Ladies in mink coats looked with
undisguised curiosity at the slim, modestly dressed woman, waiting
to see how she would cope. Anastasia Petrova was unabashed. She said
that, indeed, she would speak of the faith Soviet women had in beat-
ing the Nazis. She spoke of what Soviet women were doing for the
war, and how faith in victory helped them cope with incredible hard-
ships. She spoke of young girls and women at the front and in the
enemy’s rear, of schoolgirls, half hungry and short of sleep, working
in factories. The ladies were impressed, and applauded loudly.

In April 1942, Litvinov, who was concurrently minister to Cuba,
arrived in Havana with the Embassy Attache Alexei Fyodorov. He saw
the Cubans had deep sympathy for the USSR and its just war against
fascism. Batista, who had a burning hatred for the Soviet Union, was
forced to consider this and rendered the Soviet diplomat every possi-
ble courtesy. Litvinov was received with much fanfare. The military
school held a parade in his honour, and receptions were called.

Litvinov got to know Juan Marinello, president of the People’s
Socialist Party of Cuba, who let Litvinov have the use of a motorcar
to tour the country. Litvinov visited factories in the suburbs of Hava-
na and spoke to their workers. On one of his trips, Litvinov met Spa-
niards who had lived in the Soviet Union after the fall of the Republi-
can government, and had then moved to Cuba.

At the beginning of April 1942, Roosevelt sent Stalin a personal
message, saying he had important military proposals concerning the
use of Allied armed forces to ease the critical situation on the Soviet-
German front, and suggested someone should come to Washington to
discuss the matter. Moscow sent Molotov, who was to negotiate with
the President together with Litvinov. Meanwhile, Litvinov was instruct-
ed to find out what specific questions Roosevelt would raise.

The President received Litvinov at once, as usual, and said he
thought it would be a good idea to open a second front in Europe and
not some place else. He and his advisers were opting for a landing in
Northern France, but the British were against it. To spare his allies

325

embarrassment, the President worded it thus: The plan has not yet
been approved by Britain. He wanted the Soviet Government to help
him, as he put it, and back up his plan.

Litvinov immediately informed Moscow of his talk with Roosevelt.
The answer he received on April 20 said the Soviet government would
send its representatives to Washington at once to exchange opinions
concerning a second front in Europe.

Litvinov passed on the message to Roosevelt. This time, however,
the President was less optimistic. And the reasons were immediately
clear. The English, he said to Litvinov, want to put off the second
front until 1943. “I’ve sent Marshall and Hopkins to London to insist
on 1942,’’ he added.

“Mr. President, do you think we can do anything to overcome Brit-
ish resistance?” Litvinov asked. “I’m sure General Marshall and
Mr. Hopkins will do all they can. But perhaps we, too, can do some-
thing.”

The President said he was aware that Litvinov knew the English
well, for hadn’t he lived in Britain for ten years. They should work
together, therefore. “Suppose the Soviet representatives go to London
after the Washington talks and apply some pressure on Churchill on
my behalf and on behalf of the Soviet Union?” he said.

Roosevelt had good cause to fear Churchill’s resistance. On March
9, he had cabled Churchill he was increasingly interested in setting up
a new front that summer. Churchill evaded an answer. Now new nego-
tiations were about to begin.

After preliminary talks in London with Churchill and Eden, Molo-
tov arrived in Washington on May 29, 1942.

Litvinov awaited Molotov’s arrival without enthusiasm. To his
mind, Molotov was not flexible enough as a diplomat. Once, long ago,
Molotov had been a different person. In 1920 he had come to a ses-
sion of the Central Executive Committee from Nizhny Novgorod
(now Gorky), where he was chairman of the gubernia executive com-
mittee. He had with him a bundle of little books— his own poetry
published in Nizhny Novgorod, which he asked a girl from the Secre-
tariat to distribute among the delegates. During intervals, he walked
in the corridors and the lobby, smiling timidly and looking round to
see if anybody was reading them. But many years had passed since
then.

The American side had kept its word concerning secrecy: the pa-
pers had nothing about Molotov’s arrival. Not until Molotov was leav-
ing did his photograph appear in the press: Molotov beside the plane,
Litvinov at his side, and on the other side General George C. Marshall,

326

U.S. Army Chief of Staff, Secretary of State Cordell Hull, and
Admiral Ernest King, Chief of Naval Operations.

The talks opened on the day of Molotov’s arrival in the Oval Room
at the White House. There were military men on the American side,
including Eisenhower. He was still an obscure general at the time. In
his first report of the talks to Moscow, Litvinov wrote indeed that
a General Eisenhof had also been present with the other American
brass. Admiral Leahy, lean, above medium height, dressed as always
in a naval uniform, was particularly active. Those who wanted the
talks to founder had a vigorous leader in him.

Roosevelt’s biographer, Robert E. Sherwood, described the
opening of the talks as follows:

“Molotov arrived at the White House about four o’clock in the
afternoon of Friday, May 29. He then met with the President, Hull,
Hopkins, Ambassador Litvinov and two interpreters, Pavlov and Cross,
the latter Professor of Slavic Languages and Literature at Harvard
University. The record of this first meeting as written by Cross, is as
follows:

“After the customary introductions and greetings, Mr. Molotov
presented Mr. Stalin’s good wishes, which the President heartily recip-
rocated. To the President’s inquiry as to Mr. Stalin’s health Mr. Molo-
tov replied that, though his Chief had an exceptionally strong consti-
tution, the events of the winter and spring had put him under heavy
strain...

“Mr. Molotov expressed his intention to discuss the military situa-
tion fully. He had covered it in detail with Mr. Churchill, who had not
felt able to give any definite answer to the questions Mr. Molotov
raised, but had suggested that Mr. Molotov should return through
London after his conversations with the President, at which time a
more concrete reply could be rendered in the light of the Washington
discussions...

“The President remarked that he had one or two points to raise
which had been brought up by the State Department, and could be
discussed by Mr. Molotov or between Mr. Litvinov and Secretary Hull
as seemed expedient...

“The President described his plans for continuing the conversations
and for receiving Mr. Molotov’s staff and the flyers who brought him
over. Mr. Molotov decided to spend Friday night at the White House,
and ostensibly withdrew to rest, though between adjournment and
dinner he took a walk with Mr. Litvinov whom it had been decided
not to include in the next day’s conversations, to the Ambassador’s
obvious annoyance.”

Harry Hopkins, one of President Roosevelt’s closest aides, made a

327

personal record of the same meeting. It closed with the following
words: “The conference seemed to be getting nowhere rapidly and I
suggested that Molotov might like to rest. Litvinov acted extremely
bored and cynical throughout the conference. He made every effort
to get Molotov to stay at Blair House... But Molotov obviously wanted
to stay at the White House at least one night....”

On the following day, May 30, the talks were continued. Mo-
lotov asked the President squarely if the United States and Britain
would be able to draw 40 German divisions away from the Eastern
Front. If they were, did the President think Hitler would be beaten
in 1942 or at the latest in 1943? If not, the Soviet Union would
continue to fight Hitler alone. The Soviet government would like
to know if the United States could do anything to ease the burden
of the Soviet Union, considering that the difficulties of opening
a second front would be more numerous in 1943 than they were
now.

While stressing their wish to open the second front in 1942, the
Americans referred to various difficulties. Molotov did not get a direct
reply.

In his talks with foreign diplomats, Molotov never departed from
the strictly official approach. This was also true of his talks with
Roosevelt. Sherwood wrote:

“There was also the fact that in all of Roosevelt’s manifold dealings
with all kinds of people, he had never before encountered anyone like
Molotov. His relationship with the Kremlin from 1933 to 1939
had been through Litvinov who, although qualifying as an old Bolshe-
vik, had a Western kind of mind and an understanding of the ways
of the world that Roosevelt knew.”

Roosevelt instantly observed the difference between the dry and
officious Molotov and Litvinov, who had a knack of finding contact at
once with Western diplomats. Nor did Molotov’s attitude towards
Litvinov escape him.

The talks with Roosevelt proceeded in a tense atmosphere, as re-
corded by interpreter Vladimir Pavlov: “The statements were dry and
laconic. Roosevelt was very amiable. It was clear, however, that he
was under pressure of the reactionary forces. Admiral Leahy acted
at odds with him. At later meetings, Leahy did not appear. This meant
Hopkins’s influence had taken precedence. At the end of the talks,
Roosevelt told Molotov to let Stalin know that he, Roosevelt, hoped
the second front would open that year.”

Despite Molotov’s intentions to negotiate without Litvinov, the
latter did take part in the talks. The President’s interpreter, Samuel
H. Gross, recorded: “Mr. Molotov was much more gruff and assertive

328

than in the previous interviews, perhaps for the purpose of playing
the big shot in Mr. Litvinov’s presence.”

The moment he arrived in the United States, Molotov chose to be
inimical and terse with Litvinov. During a discussion, Litvinov wanted
some of his staff to come. He asked Attache Anton Fedotov to go and
invite them. Molotov cut him short: “Not invite— summon.”

Litvinov made no answer.

The talks were coming to a close. During a luncheon at the Soviet
Embassy, Molotov and Litvinov pressed Roosevelt and Hopkins for an
answer to the four requests they said had been submitted to Roose-
velt, namely, sending a caravan of ships monthly directly to Arkhan-
gelsk under escort of U.S. naval ships; monthly delivery of 50 B-25
bombers; delivery of 150 Boston-3 bombers, and delivery of 3,000
trucks monthly to Persian Gulf ports.

Molotov flew to London, where the talks were continued. As a
result, an understanding was reached by the USSR, the USA, and Brit-
ain “concerning urgent questions related to opening the second front
in Europe in 1942”.

Roosevelt and Hopkins, we learn from Sherwood, thought the talks
had been positive. They acknowledged the creditable stand of the
Soviet Union and its heroic Red Army.

The first Washington summer had been hard for Litvinov. The heat
was all but unbearable. People who could afford it, left the city for
cooler places. Litvinov was too busy to go anywhere. lie wrote his
son, who was by then a Red Army lieutenant: “We couldn’t go out
of town, and are simply drooping from the heat and humidity. Our
underclothes stick to our bodies. We have air-conditioning in the bed-
room, but it lowers the temperature by only 3 or 4 degrees. On aver-
age, it is 27-30 degrees Centigrade indoors, and 30-33 outside. 1 take
a bath several times a day, and walk about undressed. The humidity
is worst of all.”

Hard work went on from morning to night. Litvinov met and spoke
to diplomats, instructed his staff, appeared at public meetings. An
endless stream of coded telegrams came from Moscow, asking for data
and reports, and giving instructions. Litvinov’s replies were as curt
as he could make them: Have seen the President today. 1 said this,
he said that; also had a talk with the Secretary of State. The situation
is as follows. Not a word wasted. No promises, no groundless hopes.
A sober situation report, a recommendation here and there, and just
one continuous request: “Inform me and my staff more often and
more thoroughly about the situation at the fighting front. We must
know what to say to Americans.”

Moscow was displeased with Litvinov’s dry, laconic messages. He

329

knew it. But he had no intention of changing his style. He had no
intention to present things in a rosy light. The truth and nothing but
the truth...

During the daytime, when the heat was at its peak, Litvinov’s
heart condition let itself be felt. He went up to his room on the first
floor of the embassy building for a short rest. In the evenings, when he
had a few leisure moments, he would listen to music. Of Dmitry Sho-
stakovich’s latest opus he wrote to his son: “Have just listened to the
first radio performance in the USA of Shostakovich’s Seventh
Symphony conducted by Stokowski... Usually, it is hard to under-
stand and appreciate a symphony the first time you hear it. Yet in
this case you felt its grandeur at once. An inforgcttable impression.
The select audience (it was not a public concert), applauded. The
applause seemed never to end. I’m going to go to the first public per-
formance by conductor Koussewitski...”

The understanding that the second front would be opened in 1942
did not mean the matter was settled. The Soviet government, and
Litvinov as its representative in Washington, took a wholly realistic
view of what Roosevelt could and could not achieve. They were aware
of the resistance in political, business, and military quarters, and of
the President’s own attitude, based above all on the interests of the
United States and those of his, capitalist, class. Litvinov was of the
opinion America and Britain would not open the second front until
they felt the Soviet Union could defeat Hitler Germany on its own.
Then they would go into action, because crossing the finish line with
no political trumps would hurt their prestige in the eyes of the world
which yearned for an early victory.

Developments bore this out. In August 1942, Churchill came to
Moscow to coordinate further action with Stalin. The communique
pointed out that a number of decisions had been taken. Both govern-
ments were determined to fight on with all strength and energy until
Hitlerism was wiped out.

Conducted in a cordial and outspoken spirit, the talks were evi-
dence of the close cooperation and mutual understanding that pre-
vailed between the Soviet Union, Great Britain, and the United States.

In fact, however, the Big Three relationship was not as cloudless
as the communique said. The communique had, indeed, been drawn
up after long and difficult discussions. Churchill had brought a memo-
randum saying it was quite impossible to open the second front. Stalin
was vexed and disappointed.

The atmosphere at the official lunch for the British visitor was
glum. There was every evidence that the talks had broken down.

330

Stalin made a short speech. It was unexpected, and no stenographer
was present. But some of the guests memorised it:

“Don’t be afraid of the Germans. The devil isn’t as tough as he
looks. Sometimes battles are lost owing to poor reconnaissance. Let
me recall an episode from the First World War. In the Dardanelles,
where the British faced the Turks, both sides were poised for a battle.
At the last moment, Turkish reconnaissance discovered that the Brit-
ish intended to withdraw. The Turkish command had been planning
to do the same. Learning of the British intention, it changed its mind.
So the British left the field to the Turks.’’*

What Stalin did not say was that Churchill had been in charge of
the British Navy at the time. Churchill turned livid. He averted his
eyes. British Ambassador Stafford Cripps rose to speak as required by
protocol. Churchill, however, tugged at the hem of Cripps’s jacket
and mumbled angrily, “No more speeches.”

The lunch was a total failure. When everybody rose to leave, Stalin
came up to Churchill and invited him for a talk: “We haven’t come to
terms, but please come and see me.”

Churchill paused morosely, then said he would come. Stalin, Church-
ill, and interpreter Pavlov went down to Stalin’s quarters. Their
conversation lasted for nearly six hours. The aforesaid communique
was the result.

“Close cooperation and mutual understanding” was a formula
Churchill had accepted. But it did not mean the second front would
be opened in 1942. The Red Army fought on singlehanded. After the
Germans were beaten at Moscow, Roosevelt told Litvinov of the U.S.
plan in the war against Germany. The president spoke of stepping up
the war effort industrially and of gathering strength. Roosevelt’s
military advisers had suggested a modest landing in France in 1942,
with the second front being opened in 1943. But that could be done
only in a frontal offensive. That was the substance of America’s
English Channel strategy. Later, U.S. historians would claim that the
United States had argued for the earliest possible invasion of Western
Europe. But an Anglo-American meeting in London in July 1942
substituted a 1942 landing in Northern Africa, so-called Operation
Torch, for a landing in Northern France.

Litvinov, who had an opportunity to look behind the scenes of
U.S. politics, assumed that the change was due to America’s
reluctance to strain relations with Britain and, in particular, with
Churchill, who was nursing the idea of hitting Germany in the Bal-

* This record was supplied by Vladimir Pavlov, Stalin’s interpreter.

331

kans, which he described as Europe’s soft underbelly. With the Ger-
mans badly beaten in Africa, Churchill’s plan had every chance of
success, and would in future enable Britain to follow its traditional
policy in the Balkans and the Middle East. Roosevelt accepted Oper-
ation Torch in the belief that its success would bring closer the
second front in Europe.

In the circumstances, Litvinov concentrated on obtaining the ear-
liest delivery to the Soviet Union of arms, food, and medical supplies.
He also applied himself diligently to arousing public opinion in favour
of an early opening of the second front.

The events in the summer of 1942 called for energetic action. The
Wehrmacht was out to capture Stalingrad, imperilling the oil-rich
Caucasus and the fertile Kuban and Stavropol plains. Hitler’s Direc-
tive No. 45 of July 23, 1942, required Army Group A to thrust into
the Western Caucasus, move along the Black Seashore, capture Maikop
and Grozny, cut the mountain passes in the Central Caucasus, and
break through to Baku. Army Group B was to hit Stalingrad, crush
the Soviet armies there, capture the city, cut across the land between
the Don and the Volga, and blockade shipping along the Volga. The
Nazi armies would then advance along the Volga to Astrakhan and
gain control of the whole area.

In those exceedingly anxious days, Litvinov and his team knew no
rest. They travelled all over the country, speaking at meetings and
contacting new groups and political leaders.

The Russian War Relief usually leased a hotel for two or three
hours for Litvinov’s public appearances. The entrance fee was three
dollars. Often he spoke at Madison Square Garden and in other large
auditoriums. The proceeds covered expenses and bought additional
food and medical supplies for shipment to the Soviet Union.

Litvinov’s contacts with Roosevelt grew closer. They also became
more purposeful, for now they concerned aid in arms and materiel,
food, and medical supplies, whose importance kept increasing as the
Germans stepped up their summer offensive on the Soviet-German
front.

Again, Litvinov’s diplomatic experience and prestige stood him in
good stead. The Soviet Ambassador could phone the White House at
any time, and the President would receive him at once.

What they had were not simply conversations, but discussions
between two statesmen who knew each other’s worth.

Often, Roosevelt would invite the Soviet diplomat to drop in in the
evening. They spoke eye to eye. With no one else present. Without
advisers. Without interpreters. The only other living creature in the
room was the President’s pet dog, Fala. The conversation between

MIF

332

the refined millionaire and the former agent of Lenin’s Iskra ran along
familiar lines. The Soviet Union desperately needed more arms to de-
fend itself against the Nazis. And Litvinov kept bringing it home to
the President that more arms should be supplied.

Within half a year of Litvinov’s arrival in Washington, the Soviet
government’s considered policy, and the talks in Moscow and Wash-
ington, yielded palpable results. Roosevelt ventured on a step that
Litvinov had shown him to be necessary: the United States extended
the lend-lease aid plan to cover the Soviet Union. Here is what Anastas
Mikoyan told me on this score:

“Litvinov played a most important wartime role as ambassador to
the United States. I was negotiating lend-lease with America. The
American negotiators were led by Averell Harriman, and the British
by Lord Beaverbrook. I must say it was easier talking to the British.
But the negotiations dragged out all the same. Once Beaverbrook
asked me why I looked so glum. 1 said the talks were leading nowhere
and I was in no smiling mood. The partners were fencing all the time,
and setting new conditions. Meanwhile I had not been authorised to
alter anything in the original scenario. In the circumstanes, Litvinov
managed to find the right approach. He conducted the talks in
Washington with eminent success, securing deliveries of arms and
other goods. It was Litvinov’s personality that tilted the scales. He
played a very big part. People in the United States liked him. He had
a knack of influencing Americans, of influencing U.S. statesmen.”

On June 11, 1942, Litvinov and Hull signed an agreement on the
principles governing mutual wartime aid. The U.S. government said it
would continue to render the Soviet Union aid in arms and other war
materiel.

Still to be settled was the question of the Soviet-Amcrican com-
mercial treaty signed in 1937 and renewed annually. A longer-term
instrument was now required. On July 31, Litvinov and Hull signed
such an accord, effective until August 6, 1943, with the American side
accepting the Soviet proposal that if the agreement should not be re-
placed by a broader treaty, it would remain in force after August 6.

When the German armies broke through to Stalingrad, a protocol
was urgently needed on military deliveries under the already existing
official agreements. Such a document would state the specific time of
delivery. Litvinov negotiated with Sumner Welles, the Undersecretary
of State, and British Ambassador Campbell. On October 6, they
signed the desired protocol.

Caravans of ships carrying aircraft, tanks, guns, military equip-
ment, and strategic raw materials, left American ports for the Soviet
Union in larger and larger numbers.

333

Though the lend-lease deliveries amounted to just 4 per cent of So-
viet wartime industrial output, they played a definitely positive role
in the Soviet Union’s war against the Nazi invaders.

Unfortunately, there were breakdowns in the flow of aid, or arti-
ficial cutbacks. In September 1942, for example, Churchill had 154
Air Cobras removed from an American caravan going to Murmansk.
Moscow got to know about it. Stalin cabled Litvinov, asking him to
get in touch with Roosevelt at once and prevent such things from
happening in future.

Enemies of the Soviet Union complained that the White House had
become a branch of the Soviet Embassy. The press attacks on Litvi-
nov multiplied. Nazi agents in the United States fixed their attention
on him. Malicious cartoons and slander appeared in the papers.
They recalled Litvinov’s revolutionary past and his gun-running days.
All sorts of things were done to discredit him in the eyes of the aver-
age American. One night in a Washington street an unknown woman
started screaming at Litvinov. She cried that he would be the un-
doing of America. A crowd gathered. A public scandal seemed inevi-
table. Litvinov observed calmly:

“The lady speaks with a strong German accent.”

And the “lady” took to her heels.

The German offensive on the Soviet front sparked a campaign
to cut aid to the Soviets. Sceptical articles appeared in the papers
saying the Soviet Union was on the brink of collapse and that, in
general, its collapse was inevitable. Isolationists yelled that all aid to
Russia was in vain, and too costly for the American taxpayer. If Rus-
sia were crushed, they said, America could not care less. With the Ger-
mans on the other side of the Atlantic, America would surely come
to terms with them.

Litvinov toured the American cities all through the autumn of
1942 regardless of his age and health. On September 11, he wrote to
his wife, who was in New York, where she, too, had spoken at a pub-
lic meeting:

“I have just received an invitation to dinner from Mr. and Mrs.
Hull. I said you would not be back in time, and turned it down...
My cold is better, and I feel fit. Lots of letters and telegrams have
piled up in my absence... Hardly slept the past two nights— no time
for sleep.”

At his public appearances people asked questions about the state
of the fighting, wished the Red Army success, and gave him souvenirs
for Soviet soldiers.

Litvinov asked Moscow to send him a girl who had distinguished
herself in the fighting. The public would be thrilled to sec someone

334

from the frontlines. In October 1942, Ludmilla Pavlichenko, a sniper,
arrived and made a sensation. Twenty-six years old, a Red Army
lieutenant, Ludmilla had made the Germans pay for the lives of her
husband and child, for her country’s suffering. Her pictures were
printed in the papers. Initially, she appeared in public dressed in her
military uniform. This made a tremendous impression. Then, one day,
she came to an Aid to Russia symphony concert in an elegant dress
accompanied by Leopold Stokowski and Ivy Litvinova. The audience
rose and applauded.

Litvinov asked the girl to go to California, where sympathy for the
Soviet Union ran especially high. At a mass meeting in Los Angeles,
Ludmilla Pavlichenko thanked America for its aid to her country.
But, she said, this was not enough: it was essential to open a second
front.

On her return from California, she was received with pomp at the
Soviet Embassy in Washington. Litvinov came out to meet her in full
uniform, and behind him stood members of the embassy staff. In his
hands, Litvinov held a silver tray with an envelope. Embarrassed by
all the ceremony, Pavlichenko approached slowly. Litvinov took a
few steps in her direction, and gave her the envelope. It was a letter
from a California millionaire who proposed marriage. Litvinov said
that in his capacity it was his duty to inform her of it officially.

The funny little ceremony caused a lot of merriment. Soon, Pav-
lichenko went home to Russia. The California millionaire waited in
vain for a reply to his proposal.

In the autumn of 1942, the Nazis came close to Stalingrad. It was
clear to everyone that, in effect, the outcome of the war hung in the
balance. The American papers printed both the Soviet and the
German war reports. The difference between them was great, and
Americans were confused. The Soviet Embassy went out of its way to
supply detailed information to the press.

The gravity of the situation forced Litvinov to think of how things
would go if Stalingrad fell. In a strictly confidential talk with Roose-
velt, Litvinov admitted that if this were to occur, it would greatly
lengthen the war. The Soviet Union, he said, would not surrender in
any circumstances. It would fight on until victory. But the position
of some of Germany’s allies should not be forgotten. And the situa-
tion of the United States, too. It would be far worse off. So it was
absolutely essential to draw Nazi divisions away from the Eastern
front, and, besides, step up arms deliveries.

Somehow, the content of the talk was leaked to the press, though
it is true, in a distorted way. Litvinov instructed Vladimir Pastoycv,

335

the press attache, to find out who was guilty. The answer was not
hard to get at: the United Press had sent out articles on the Stalingrad
situation, and, on learning that Litvinov was to visit Roosevelt that
day, surmised that they would talk of the possible consequences of
the Stalingrad Battle. The UP writer ascribed his own conclusions to
Litvinov.

Celebrations of the 25th anniversary of the October Revolution
gave Litvinov an opportunity to again focus public attention on the
Soviet-German front. On the suggestion of President Roosevelt and
New York Mayor La Guardia, November 8, 1942 was marked in
America as Stalingrad Day. A congress of American-Soviet friendship
was held in Madison Square Garden. Labour leaders, writers and
scientists, industrialists and leaders of the women’s movement, attend-
ed. Roosevelt could not come but sent a message of greeting. Vice-
President Henry Wallace and others addressed the gathering. All
speakers referred to the grand exploit of the Red Army and the Soviet
people. When Litvinov rose to speak, the applause was thunderous. He
said the anti-Hitler coalition needed consolidating, and that the Amer-
icans’ words of support and admiration “would reach the hearts of
the Red Army men fighting amid the ruins of Stalingrad, and else-
where. They would evoke a heartfelt response among all Soviet people
who were contending with incredible difficulties in the name of free-
dom”.

Sympathy for the Soviet Union mounted not only in the United
States but also in other countries of the Western hemisphere. In June

1942, Canada established diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union.
At the height of the German offensive at Stalingrad, Mexico restored
diplomatic relations with the USSR. The matter was negotiated with
the Mexican ambassador in the United States. In 1943, diplomatic
relations were also restored with Uruguay. All this spoke of the
increasing prestige of the Soviet Union. People all over the world
acknowledged the tremendous service it was doing to humanity.

The turning point in the Battle of Stalingrad came in November
and December of 1942. The Red Army enveloped, and began to grind
down the armies of Marshal Paulus. Throughout those months, the
Soviet Embassy telephones rang all day long. Hundreds of letters and
cables arrived. Americans were asking for the latest news arid wishing
the Soviets an early victory. Finally, in the early hours of February 1,

1943, America’s radio stations broadcast a Soviet Informbureau com-
munique about the final and complete defeat of the Germans at Sta-
lingrad.

The papers were full of articles and commentaries, and of photo-

336

graphs of Soviet generals and the ruins of Stalingrad-and also of the
captured German generals. The Washington Star wrote the Stalingrad
Battle had been one of the greatest battles in history. It said the Rus-
sians had shown that enormous obstacles could be overcome by strain-
ing one’s will. “Stalingrad,” it wrote, “was a still greater debacle for
the Germans than Verdun had been in the previous world war.”

Solidarity meetings were held all over the United States. Albert
Einstein, Ernest Hemingway, Polar explorer Admiral Byrd, and many
other prominent personalities, spoke at these meetings. Theodore
Dreiser sent a message thanking the people of Russia for their gallant
effort in behalf of all humanity and their social achievements.

The President of the United States, too, saw fit to applaud the
exploit of the Soviet armies. “Their glorious victory,” he wrote,
“has halted the invasion and became the turning point in the war of
the Allied nations against aggression.”

There was one more response worth mentioning. It came from
Alexander Kerensky. By that time, he, former head of the Provision-
al Government in Russia, had already spent a quarter of a century
as a political emigre in the United States. His former predictions of
the inevitable collapse of the Bolsheviks had long since been disproved.
Now, this inveterate enemy of the Soviet Union, who had escaped
from revolutionary Petrograd dressed in women’s clothes, impressed
by the courage of the Soviet army, wanted to express his belated ad-
miration to the Soviet Ambassador. Kerensky asked to be received by
Litvinov.

Litvinov read his letter, held it in his hands then dropped it on the
desk. He walked up and down his office, thinking. Possibly, he re-
called the distant summer of 1918 in London, and the meeting at
which Kerensky slandered Lenin and the Bolsheviks. He had come to
London then to obtain military assistance from the Entente, and de-
stroy the Soviets with its help.

Litvinov told the staff to leave Kerensky’s letter unanswered.

The Soviet Ambassador saw sympathy rise for his country. Speak-
ing at public meetings, he now began stressing the need for enduring
and lasting peace once the war was over. Again and again, he said to
Roosevelt that the Soviet Union and the United States bore a special
responsibility for the maintenance of peace.

In early April 1943, Litvinov was summoned to Moscow. Reports
of his departure appeared in the American press. Litvinov replied
curtly to reporters that he was being summoned by his government,
and that his wife was staying on in Washington.

He decided not to delay his departure, and drew up the requisite

'/a 2 2 - 0 1 0 7 2

337

instructions for the embassy staff to follow in his absence. He called
up Roosevelt and said he was leaving in a few days. Naturally,
the President knew. I fe was simply waiting to hear of it from
Litvinov.

On the eve of his departure, Litvinov went to sec Roosevelt. They
were alone— two ageing men with long and eventful lives behind them.
Roosevelt asked after a long pause:

“You won’t be coming back?”

Litvinov shrugged. He spoke of arms deliveries and of the second
front. He no longer doubted that the second front would soon be
opened. He said it was time to think of the future...

Thus, quite abruptly, Litvinov’s highly beneficial activity in the
United States was cut short. He had shown enormous energy and
intelligence. Surely, he could still have done a lot of good at his post.

After Rommel’s crushing defeat, one could fly home to Russia via
Africa. All those flying to Africa, had to have injections against the
plague, cholera, and other contagious diseases. Litvinov went for his
injections to the special medical centre at the War Department. The
austere pentagonal building made a depressing impression on him. The
doctor examined Litvinov carefully, and said he would not let him fly.
Litvinov was then 67, the planes were not what they are now, and the
long flight across the ocean and the Sahara could affect his health.
Litvinov insisted, however, and the injections were made.

Then one more hindrance arose. Petrova was to fly to Moscow
with her boss. But the pilots refused to take a woman aboard: it was
a bad omen. Finally, the authorities agreed to issue papers saying the
Soviet Ambassador was accompanied by his secretary. The secretary,
after all, could be male.

From Washington, they flew in a civil aircraft to Miami. From
there a military transport took off for Teheran.

During the flight, which lasted 12 days and nights, Litvinov had a
glimpse of life at American and British garrisons scattered over the
vast distance from Miami to Baghdad. His impressions were diverse
and instructive.

The Allies had seen to it that their garrisons should live in comfort.
The barracks were protected against mosquitoes, and every two men
had a room. The food served to soldiers and officers was as good as
at top-rate restaurants. On his menu, Litvinov wrote sarcastically:
“Oh, poor American soldiers!” Yes, they knew nothing of trenches,
of freezing weather, and meagre rations.

Several million men and officers, equipped with first-class arms,
were quartered on the British Isles, waiting for action. In the mean-

338

while, along a front of 3,000 kilometres from Murmansk to the
Caucasus, the Red Army was locked in battle with the Nazis.

During his stopovers at garrisons in Africa, Litvinov spoke to the
men of the situation on the Soviet-German front, of the hardships
suffered by the Soviet people, of the exploits of Red Army soldiers
and officers. And, as usual, he ended his speeches with an appeal to
open the second front promptly. Nor did Litvinov ever fail to stress
that the main thing after Hitler was crushed would be to establish
lasting peace.

In Teheran, Litvinov changed to a Soviet plane and flew to Baku.
At once, he felt the effects of the war. The blacked-out city was ready
to repulse Nazi air-raids. Litvinov wanted to fly to Moscow, but was
told to wait until dark, so as to avoid Nazi raiders.

He arrived in Moscow in the morning. His daughter Tania was wait-
ing for him at the airfield.

Litvinov did not know what to expect. He was aware, of course,
that he had long since reached retirement age. But he could not pic-
ture himself out of work. The two years of his fall from grace, when
he had no job, were the most trying period in his life. He had worked
like all the others of like mind and frame, without a thought for his
health and age.

Back in T939, when work records were starred for all citizens,
Litvinov’s secretariat had asked the personnel department to draw up
the Foreign Commissar’s record as well. A man from the personnel
department came to ask Litvinov when he had begun working, when
and where he had had jobs, and so on. Litvinov was surprised :

“I don’t need a work record,” he said vexedly, “I am working,
am I not? And if 1 will be out of work, the Central Committee will
find something for me.”

He simply could not picture a Bolshevik going off the stage. The
experience he had gathered over the decades, could be useful, even
necessary.

With this in mind, he had come home. After nearly two years of
fighting the Nazis, at the price of incredible suffering, his country had
attained a point from where the outlines of victory were already vis-
ible. But Litvinov knew a lot of strength, energy, and intelligence
were still needed to win the war and then to win enduring peace. He
was eager to devote the rest of his life to this cause.

The Epilogue

LITVINOV’S LAST YEARS

In the summer of 1943, the Nazis tried to turn the tables and
avenge their defeat at Stalingrad. But in the Battle of the Kursk
Salient, the Wehrmacht suffered one more crushing defeat.

I he Allies, too, had no choice but to go into action. In January
1943, when Roosevelt and Churchill met in Casablanca, they decided
in favour of a landing in Sicily. The matter of a landing in Europe,
via the English Channel and thus bringing closer Germany’s defeat,
was again put off. On July 10, 1943, U.S. troops landed in Sicily, and
thereupon in Southern Italy. Mussolini’s regime fell. After the deci-
sive advances of the Red Army and the Allied actions in the south of Eu-
rope, other Axis countries could be expected to drop out of the war
soon. Preparations for a summit meeting, the Teheran Conference,
were begun in Moscow, Washington, and London. Diplomats were
again stepping to the forefront.

For half a year, Litvinov was still considered ambassador to the
United States. Molotov all but ignored him. Sometimes, it is true,
when some intricate diplomatic issue arose, he turned to Litvinov for
advice, and was always courteous. At other times, however, he was
gruff.

Andrei Vyshinsky, who was then Molotov’s first deputy, acted in
much the same way. He rejected anything Litvinov said, arid went out
of his way to please Molotov. That, for him, was the main thing.
Once, when an important foreign policy issue was being discussed,
Vyshinsky set out his opinion. Molotov scowled. Instantly, Vyshinsky
changed course and made a proposal contrary' to his initial views.
Litvinov could not bear that, and observed sharply:

“Listen here, Vyshinsky, you just proposed something entirely
different.”

Molotov stopped the argument.

Even before the decision was announced, Litvinov realised he was
not going back to the United States. On May 23, 1943, he wrote his
son Mikhail that he was back in Moscow, though Mother was still in
Washington. “Most likely,” he wrote, “she has gone to New York,

which she always liked better than the capital. A few of her articles
have been published, which she supplied with her own illustrations.
She has also put out a book, Moscow Mystery, with a long introduc-
tion. The book is more successful in the USA than in Britain... I have
come on the assumption that I would not be going back to the United
States. But I cannot yet say if my guess is right. If I do return, I still
intend to see you. Some friend of yours has informed Tania you will
be in Moscow on June 4. I am sure that I shall still be here. If neces-
sary, I’ll ask your superiors to let you fly here for a few days.”

Later in the summer of 1943, Andrei Gromyko was appointed
Ambassador to the United States. Litvinov retained his post of
Deputy People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs. He took part in the'
discussion of crucial foreign policy issues, headed the commission that
drew up the peace treaties, attended examinations at the Higher
Diplomatic School, drafted diplomatic notes, and submitted proposals
on postwar arrangements. His name was mentioned in reports of dip-
lomatic receptions, and outside official circles people thought he was
still one of those who made government decisions.

Shortly before the war ended, Stalin appeared at a reception at
the British Embassy. Many Soviet diplomats were there, including
Litvinov. Stalin came up to him, said hello amiably and suggested they
should drink to their friendship. People held their breaths. Litvinov
replied :

“Comrade Stalin, I can’t drink— doctor’s orders.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stalin replied. “Let’s consider we’ve had our
drink.”

On the following day, Litvinov was moved to a bigger office next
to Vyshinsky’s.

In the summer of 1944, the second front was opened at last. The
Second World War entered its final stage. Soviet troops liberated
Poland, Bulgaria, Hungary, Austria, Northern Norway, and approached
the German border. The enormous Soviet war effort, plus that of the
Allies, was paying off at last.

In the early hours of May 9, 1945 Nazi Germany signed the
unconditional surrender instrument. The world rejoiced. Moscow sa-
luted the victors. Fireworks lit up the sky. Meanwhile, the aged diplo-
mat thought of the future. On a copy of Izvestia carrying the text of
the surrender instrument, he wrote: “To Mikhail and Pavel [Litvinov’s
grandson] and my more distant descendants, in memory of this his-
toric day when the fascists’ war-making ability was finally crushed.”

What a precise political definition! On that joyful, sunny first day
of peace, he was looking far into the future. For the sake of the ris-
ing generations, he called for vigilance, and warned that only the war-

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making ability of the fascists was crushed, while their destructive
spirit and venomous ideology were not yet rooted out.

For nearly another year after the war’s end, Litvinov had his job at
the Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. -

After the terrible ordeal of war, the nation was gradually returning
to a peaceful life. Factories were being rebuilt, new housing was going
up. Cities, towns, and villages, were rising from their ruins. Litvinov
was happy to see it, to hear of fresh successes. In the Donets Basin a
feat was being performed: a blown-up furnace was restored, and
a new bridge was built across the Dnieper. Blocks of new houses were
reported to have been opened to tenancy in Kiev, Smolensk, Velikiye
Luki, Minsk, all the cities that the Nazis had practically razed to the
ground. Litvinov shared his joy with his friends. His thoughts were
concentrated on the country’s future, on how to consolidate its inter-
national situation on the basis of the prestige it had won during the
war.

Litvinov wrote memos to the government, to Stalin, suggesting
plans and projects. He drew up a long letter, outlining a plan for a
state treaty with Austria, one of Hitler’s first victims. Litvinov consid-
ered settling the Austrian question a prime objective.

The first postwar elections to the USSR Supreme Soviet were held
in February 1946. Litvinov was nominated -not in Leningrad as in
the past twenty years, but in the town of Kondopog, Karelia. Litvi-
nov’s brief biography was printed there for the electorate. It con-
tained many warm words about his revolutionary, political, and diplo-
matic activity.“The enemies of the Soviet Union, enemies of peace
and progress,” it said, “have time and again been exposed to the de-
vastating power of Litvinov’s logic, his sarcasm and wit. Comrade
Litvinov is an outstanding personality and an old Bolshevik. He enjoys
prestige all over the world ... and is working fruitfully to strengthen
friendly relations with other countries, to enhance the influence of
the Soviet Union on postwar arrangements”.

Owing to ill health, Litvinov did not go to Kondopog to meet his
electorate. Instead, he sent a letter. It was published in the local pa-
per. He thanked the populace for their trust in him, referred to the
immense postwar task facing the country, and ended the letter with
the following words: “1 promise to devote the rest of my life, as
before, to the interests of our country, and to carry out conscien-
tiously, to the full extent of my powers and skill, all the work that the
Party and government may entrust me.”

On February 10, Litvinov was elected deputy to the Supreme So-
viet of the USSR. The first time he was elected to the country’s

342

supreme governing body was in December 1922, at the first All-Union
Congress of Soviets. The latest election, in 1946, culminated his thirty
years as people’s deputy.

On July 17, 1946, Maxim Litvinov was 70. Unlike his sixtieth
birthday, which he celebrated in Evian, there were no official tele-
grams or greetings. He was not totally forgotten, however. Dckanosov,
who was also Deputy Foreign Commissar, called up and said he had
news for him. Their offices were at different ends of the building.
Litvinov went up three flights of stairs, and crossed the long corridor
to Dekanosov’s office. The latter was curt:

“I have been instructed to inform you that you have been relieved
of your job.”

That was the end of Maxim Litvinov’s diplomatic career. But the
toast Stalin had offered to drink to their friendship at the British
Embassy reception still exercised its magic. Litvinov was told he
could be a member of the USSR Academy of Sciences. He refused.

“I have never had anything to do with the Academy of Sciences.
I’ll not even consider it.”

Now he could look back at the past. He never had time for himself.
His life was wholly devoted to his job. Litvinov took to reading books.
He reread all of Pushkin, then the history of the French Revolution.
He read the works of English authors-the novels of Dickens and
Thackeray, and Anthony Trollope, and the biographies by Andre
Maurois, out of which he singled out The Life of Disraeli. “To attain
first place in a country you must be mediocre and unscrupulous,”
Maurois wrote. Litvinov scribbled on the margin: “Like the British
prime ministers.”

He was often seen at the Lenin Library. Denied a car the day he
was dismissed, he walked there, as he did everywhere else. There was
a cab stand near his house in Serafimovich Street, and the same thing
happened day after day: the moment Litvinov appeared in the door,
cabs drove up, doors opened, and drivers said: “Get in, get in, Maxim
Maximovich, and don’t bother about paying.”

Litvinov thanked them, but always refused.

Word of the concern of the cab drivers got around. Zhdanov gave
Dckanosov a piece of his mind, and on the next day Litvinov was
offered the use of an official car.

Litvinov was sometimes invited to receptions on big holidays. The
last reception he went to was in early 1947. Alexander Wert h, promi-
nent British journalist and author of Russia at War 1941-1945, wrote:
“Perhaps the most diehard ‘softy’ was Litvinov, who remained one
even as late as 1947. I had a conversation with him at the reception
given by Molotov on Red Army Day in February 1947... Vyshinsky

343

walked past, and gave us both an exceedingly dirty look. Litvinov was
never to appear at any public reception again. Ivy Litvinov’s reckless
indiscretions at the same party— remarks made for anybody to hear—
added to Molotov’s great displeasure.”

Litvinov was invited on rare occasions only and only to meetings
in celebration of revolutionary jubilees. From time to time, he would
speak at the Museum of the Revolution and the Central Lenin
Museum, recalling the early revolutionary days, the time he was in
prison in Kiev, and his work as an Iskra agent. Then they stopped
inviting him even on those rare occasions.

But Litvinov was not forgotten. He received letters, and telegrams,
people asked him for advice, and sent their good wishes. Here is one
such letter:

“Hello, Maxim Maximovich, a very happy New Year to you in
1948, and here’s wishing you health and a long life. Pardon me for
writing. You do not know me, but I know you well. Fewer and fewer
fine men of Lenin’s guard, like you, are still around. But our memory
of you will never fade. We will never forget the arms you supplied
through Finland, the arms that overthrew the Tsar, that repulsed
foreign armies. Your inspired speeches at the League of Nations at
Geneva helped us win the Great Patriotic War and will help us win the
coming battles for communism. Once again, dear Maxim Maximovich,
I wish you a happy New Year. Glory and gratitude to the old Leninist
guard of Bolsheviks from those it has educated and brought up!
Glory to you, old-timer and undergrounder, dedicated revolutionary!’

At the end of his life, too, Litvinov looked for something useful
to keep him busy. He spent two years compiling a dictionary of
synonyms. One has to see the big box filled with filing cards to under-
stand how much Litvinov had done. When the dictionary was ready,
he wrote a publishing house to come and look at it. At first, there
was no answer. Then, a long time later, came a rejection: no, they did
not want his book, unless he’d accept a co-author, someone known
in linguistics.

Then he received a letter asking him to review a Swedish-Russian
dictionary. He took the matter seriously, as he did everything else,
and, considering his knowledge of Swedish insufficient, refused the
offer. On June 16, 1948, he wrote to Alexandra Kollontai:

“Dear Alexandra, 1 hope you received my previous letter. This one
is on business. I have been asked to review a Swedish-Russian diction-
ary. To my shame, I have had to admit ignorance. Then it occurred
to me that perhaps you would do it. What they want is an opinion
(not for print; the publishers want to know if it’s worth printing).
The dictionary was compiled by my former subordinate, Milanova.

1 think the publishers would be happy if you also agreed to edit the

^ ‘ C Litvtnov’s correspondence with Kollontai became livelier. They
foundr y in communicating with each other. The flow of letters end-

ed only after Litvinov’s death. c ,

Alexandra Kollontai was then busy writing her notes. She us y
let Litvinov see what she had written. He was her first critic offer
advice, and sometimes disagreed with what she wrote. On J

1949 , he commented: ,

“My condolences over the inconsiderate weather, so unpleasant

to us urbanites. Have returned all your notes. While reframing from
praise, as you asked me, 1 must say I read your notes with great in-
terest I felt for you when you wrestled with all the herring, ,
seal, of which you wrote alongside your poetic description* of the
beauty of nature. Certainly, you are in love with Norway. 1 have al-
ways been sorry, and am still sorrier now, thar Norway never came
within the range of my many excurskms across Europe. Every summe
1 meant to go there but never managed. What to do. Each o
fared to die without having performed or completed something. Oh,
how manv forgotten episodes and faces have your notes revived m
my memory! Thank you very much. Need 1 say . will be grateful
for anything more of the same kind. Shaking your hand, w.shing you

health and good weather in July. Yours, Litvinov ”

In the summer of 1949, Litvinov went to the Baltic shore near
Riga hoping to cure his neglected rheumatism which he had acquiree
during his prison years. Here he saw familiar places again. He had
shipped arms to Russia via Latvia, he had had secret rendezvous
here and had kept transit warehouses in Riga, and it was also via Riga
that he had received letters from Lenin and Krupskaya. . ,

In Kemeri, the holiday resort, Litvinov met Maisky and Chicherin s
former assistant, Korotkin. Often, they walked together along the
shore. One evening, shortly before sunset, sitting on a bench near the
sea they talked of bygone days. Litvinov replied curtly to the ques-
tions of his companions. Then, a smile lit up his face. He said:

“I knew Chicherin since 1904. After the disaster with the boat
Zora, he got the Party’s Central Committee to investigate the reasons
for the mishap. He wanted me to answer for it. A commission was
formed, and Chicherin came specially from Paris to Brussels, where it
had its seat. I was found innocent of anything irregular. lie went back
to Paris, and we did not see each other until he came to London. He
was a tremendous personality. Peculiar and unique.”

Litvinov’s smile did not fade, lie sat silently for a while thinking

of those distant times.

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23-01072

345

In Riga and Kemeri people recognised Litvinov, and stopped him in
the street. He wrote to Kollontai on August 2, 1949: “I am writing to
you, though I do not know where you are— in Moscow or Chkalov-
skaya. I hope that despite the poor summer you are better and have
benefited from your stay in the country. As in Moscow, I’ve had to
kick up a row before they’d let me have mud treatments, because
most doctors say I must not have them. But now my battle for mud
has been won. Not that it has done me any good. So far, no improv-
ement. People console me, saying the effects may come after a while,
when I’m back in Moscow. So I summon up all my optimism. No other
choice... Apart from the mud, I must say it has done me good to be
here. The service is excellent. I feel great. The air is fine, the company
is good, so arc the films and other entertainment. No man could
wish for more...”

The days and weeks dragged on slowly. No longer did Litvinov,
approach anyone with recommendations on foreign policy. He knew
that, at best, he would be regarded as a crank. The diplomat in him
was silent. Only from time to time in the company of close friends,
in his conversations with Kollontai, would he voice his ideas or say
what he would have done in such and such a case. Alexandra Kollon-
tai listened, marvelling at his clear thinking, his far-sightedness, his
knack of getting to the root of the problem and anticipating the
course of events.

The short notes taken by Alexandra Kollontai’s secretary and
friend, F.my Lorenson, give us a glimpse of what troubled those two
old Soviet diplomats. Here is a note made on July 8, 1950:

“Today, Maxim Litvinov came for a visit. He came for tea. He was
deeply concerned over the situation in Germany, and to a less ex-
tent over Israel and Yugoslavia.”

But whatever he said did not go further than the walls of Kollon-
tai’s flat in Bolshaya Kaluzhskaya. The last thread between Litvinov
and the diplomatic service was cut when his name was transferred
from the Party register of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the regis-
ter of the house management at his place of residence. It was more
than 50 years since he had joined the Party. No one celebrated the
jubilee. They forgot. But he did not forget his duties, always attended
Party meetings, and was never late. He simply did not know how to
come late. The house management’s Party group discussed repairs,
the plumbing, and the like, and the lift that was so often in disrepair.
Litvinov listened and sometimes spoke.

Time had not changed his character. A campaign was launched in
those days against so-called cosmopolites. I his had an immediate

effect on the outward appearance of Alexandra Kollontai’s flat. She
had portraits of Swedish King Gustaf Adolf and Prince Eugen which
they had given her, and a portrait of the Danish prince who had once
come to Moscow on business. She had gifts and souvenirs of all kinds.
But when the press attacked “worship of foreign things ’, Kollontai
removed the portraits, and put away all her foreign-made gimmicks.
Naturally, Litvinov noticed. And said what he thought of it.

The incident threw a cloud over the friendship of these two remark-
able old revolutionaries. But they kept seeing each other, and con-
tinued their correspondence. In a letter from a sanatorium in
Barvikha, near Moscow, Litvinov wrote to Kollontai:

“After our latest telephone conversation, I got your letter and was
happy to know you still worked on your archives. My speeches are
available in two editions-an abridged one and an additional one
which, as far as I remember, had the title, In Defence of Peace. When
I go back to town, I’ll let you know what it really is. I think I still
have a copy. If you need it urgently, you’ll no doubt find a copy at
the Foreign Ministry library. I feel fine. Not because of the company,
but thanks to the vegetation and the fresh air. I walk a lot, but less
than I used to. My legs are not up to it. It is a pity you are not here.

I had good luck with the room-it has a telephone and a radio receiv-
er, which helps me follow the follies committed across the world.”

Litvinov was now over 70. People marvelled at his lucid mind, his
insight. Kollontai kept sending him her notes. Nothing escaped his
vision, even the least departure from the truth of history. On January
29, 1951, Litvinov commented on her notes on the history of Europe
between the two world wars: “I want to call your attention to one
inadvertent error. You write of a French ‘revanchism’. Yet you refer
to the postwar period when French revanchism had long since been
satisfied by the return of Alsace-Lorraine to France (I have ticked the
place off with a pencil)...”

He made many other remarks— incisive, reaching down to the root
of the matter. He offered advice, recollected historical facts, urged
analytical conclusions, and insisted on Marxist interpretations of
world processes.

Alexandra Kollontai often told Litvinov he should write his me-
moirs. She held that Litvinov’s revolutionary and diplomatic activity
was important for future generations, for their education. Many other
comrades, too, asked him to write his memoirs. He made no reply or
would say briefly that he was not in the custom of writing.

In the summer of 1950, an old friend of his, Andrew Rothstein,
came to Moscow from London. A short while before, the second
postwar Labour government had come to power in Britain with a

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slight edge in the elections. Litvinov asked his guest about the situa-
tion in England and about the mood of the English intelligentsia.

“Why aren’t you writing your memoirs?” Rothstein asked.

And again Litvinov replied curtly:

“This is not the time to write memoirs.”

On November 16, 1950, Litvinov received a letter from Alexander
Tvardovsky, who was then acting secretary of the Union of Writers.
Tvardovsky asked him to come to a function marking the 50th
anniversary of the first issue of Lenin’s Iskra. “Your remembrances
on this auspicious occasion,” wrote Tvardovsky, “would be most
welcome and valuable.”

Litvinov did go to see Tvardovsky...

This inspired kollontai. Late in December 1950 she again asked
Litvinov to write his memoirs. On January 18, 1951, Litvinov replied:
“Dear Alexandra, alas I have lost the art of writing (physically),
because ever since the Revolution I had written nothing in my own
hand, and always had a stenographer. Now I have none. That is one
reason why I cannot do what you ask, to say nothing of more serious
reasons...”

To one very close friend, Litvinov said:

“I write in the morning, and tear it up in the evening.”

He left us no memoirs. Shortly before his death, he wrote a few
letters to his granddaughter, telling her in allegorical form how one
should live; he spoke of the meaning of life, of justice and honesty.
In one of his last letters to her, he wrote-. “I don’t care if mercenary
historians ignore me, and strike out my name...” But at the end of the
letter he wrote that he hoped the time would come when people
remembered him.

Always Litvinov addressed the works of Lenin. During the last
few years of his life this was an organic need. He read everything that
was written about Lenin, and observed bitterly that much too little
was written. Yet his interest in Lenin was enormous. Early in the
summer of 1951, Kollontai sent Litvinov Nadezhda Krupskaya’s 6 7
book of remembrances of Lenin, which he had not been able to ob-
tain in the library. On J uly 2, he wrote to her:

“Dear Alexandra, I return Krupskaya’s remembrances with grati-
tude. I read the book, or rather reread it, in one gulp. How many pic-
tures from my own past did it conjure up! What compassion Lenin’s
feelings and experiences arouse! How human he was. It is a pity, how-
ever, that Krupskaya confined herself to such sporadic, trivial; and
incomplete remembrances. Considering her closeness to Lenin and her
function as his perpetual secretary, one could expect a more complete
and more thorough description of the epoch. Who if not Krupskaya

348

should write the history of the Party. But, all in all, thanks for this
book, a most vluable contribution the history of the Party and of our
country. It is a pity that our young people have no access to it. They know
so little about Lenin. It is a pity, too, that there is no continuation.”

In July 1951, Litvinov was seventy-five. Only his closest friends
remembered it was his birthday. They congratulated him, and wished
him health. Litvinov looked fit, and showed an interest in world
affairs. Anatoly Miller, a doctor of history, wrote:

“I met Maxim Litvinov at the time near Zvenigorod in the country-
house of Academician Maisky. I was about to visit Borodino, to see
the battlefield and the museum. Litvinov said he, too, would like to
go. All of us set out for Borodino in my car. As we alighted, someone
offered Litvinov a hand. He said, I’m not a wreck yet. My sciatica is
the only thing that bothers me. I have no other complaints. He of-
fered his hand to the lady in the car, and helped her alight.

“As wc were walking across the field of Borodino, my wife asked
Litvinov, ‘I’m sure, Maxim Maximovich, that you are writing your me-
moirs. Aren’t you?’

“Litvinov smiled sarcastically and replied, ‘I’m no madman to be
writing memoirs.’”

In the latter half of 1951, Litvinov was unwell. He did not leave
the house. But Dr. Krause, who had predicted his early death back in
the beginning of the 1930s, had been badly mistaken. Litvinov’s pow-
erful constitution coped with his illness well in his seventies. But
gradually his heart grew weaker. Now his correspondence with Alex-
andra Kollontai was more like an exchange of letters with a doctor:
full of advice and medical prescriptions. Then, suddenly, would come
a question: what d’you think will happen to Korea? Followed by his
thoughts, conclusions, and predictions. Whenever he felt better he
read his favourite poets or the history of the French Revolution or Le-
nin’s latest writings. It was in Lenin’s works that he looked for an
answer to the many questions that troubled him.

In December 1951, Maxim Litvinov had his third stroke. The doc-
tors made him stay in bed. He tried getting up or begged for books
to read. If his request was refused, he lay in silence thinking or listening
to the radio. The radio set was on the little table beside his bed.

lie shared his thoughts with no one. What he thought in those
long hours will never be known. Two years before he had written to
Stalin. He had written what was on his mind. Not about himself. He
had no complaints. He wrote of the country’s future, and set forth
his ideas of what the Soviet Union’s foreign policy should be.

What had troubled him in those last few years of his life?

349

The atomic mushroom over Hiroshima, that first step towards
worldwide disaster had stunned the world. An experienced diplomat
and statesman, Litvinov saw the cloudy future. He devised outline
plans that might halt the drift to the abyss. He who had paved the
way for rapprochement with the people of the United States, knew how
all-important it was to strengthen mutual confidence between the two
great nations. Again and again, his thoughts turned to the last meeting
he had had with President Roosevelt on that April night of 1943.

At the end of his letter to Stalin he had added two lines of concern
for his family: “Please, don’t leave my wife and children in trouble.”

Some time after his death, Misha and Tanya, his son and daughter,
would add another two lines to it: “We’re not in want. We hadn’t
been independent when Father wrote you, now we have professions,
and work for our living."

At the end of December, Litvinov’s condition deteriorated. Four-
year-old Vera, his granddaughter, came to his bedside. Litvinov took
her in his arms and kissed her. Lydia Fotiyeva, who saw it, said,
“He killed himself.”

On December 31, the nurse did not leave his bedside. He was
dying. His last words were: “Let it be quick...”

Litvinov’s funeral was on January 4, 1952. A short obituary had
appeared in Pravda. The coffin with the deceased, it said, was installed
in the conference hall of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for people to
come and see him off. It was a cold day. People came with flowers,
but at the entrance someone said no flowers, please. A wreath from
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was all. Old Bolsheviks who had
known Litvinov all their lives, had also collected money for a wreath.
But someone in plain clothes, appeared and said, “It is thought there
should be no wreath from Old Bolsheviks.”

A crowd of people gathered outside Novodcvichy Cemetery. But
its gate was closed. A passer-by asked, “Who has died?”

Not until sixteen years later, in 1967, was a granite stele with
Litvinov’s portrait in bas relief erected beside his grave. The sculptor
portrayed him well— his mild features and incisive gaze turned to the
future. And it took another twenty years for the USSR Council of
Ministers to have a memorial plaque placed on the wall of the house
near Krasniye Vorota where People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs
Maxim Maximovich Litvinov had lived for some years. This was on
December 22, 1987, the year when the country celebrated the 70th
anniversary of the October Revolution in a setting of perestroika and
glasnost.

Notes

1 Bolsheviks (from bolsbinstvo meaning majority), political party that took
shape in 1903 (at the Second Congress of the RSDLP) as a result of efforts by
Russian revolutionary Marxists headed by V. 1. Lenin to create a genuinely
revolutionary party.

2 Mensheviks (from menshinstvo, meaning minority), an opportunist petty-
bourgeois reformist current in Russia’s Social-Democratic movement, which
emerged at the Second Congress of the RSDLP in 1903, consisting of the oppo-
nents of the Leninist principle of building a party of a new type, who were in
the minority in the elections to the Party’s central bodies.

3 Mikoyan, Anastas (1895-1978), for many years member of the CPSU
Central Committee’s Political Bureau, First Deputy Chairman of the USSR
Council of Ministers, Chairman of the USSR Supreme Soviet Presidium in
1965-1974.

4 Molotov, Vyacheslav (1890-1986), Chairman of the USSR Council of
People’s Commissars in 1930-1941, and USSR Minister of Foreign Affairs in
1939-1949 and 1953-1956.

5 Iskra, the first all-Russia underground Marxist newspaper founded by
V. I. Lenin and published under his direction. After the Second Congress of the
RSDLP it became an organ of the Mensheviks. The last, 112th issue, appeared
in October 1905.

6 Khodynka— the reference to the rioting in Khodynka Field (in the north-
western part of Moscow) on May 18, 1896, during the celebration of the
coronation of Tsar Nicholas II and the distribution of gifts to the populace.
Owing to official neglect as many as 1,389 people died and about 1,300 were
maimed in the ensuing stampede.

7 Perovskaya, Sofia (1853-1881), revolutionary, member of the F.xecutive
of Narodnaya Volya (People’s Freedom), a revolutionary Narodnik organisa-
tion founded in St. Petersburg in 1879. Its programme was to eliminate auto-
cracy, convene a Constituent Assembly, introduce democratic freedoms, and
give the land to its tillers. She organised and took part in an attempt on the life
of Tsar Alexander II, and was executed by hanging in St. Petersburg in April
1881.

8 Zhelyabov, Andrei (1851-1881), a revolutionary Narodnik from a family

351

of serf peasants. A founder and leader of the Narodnaya Volya organisation.
Masterminded the attempt on the life of Tsar Alexander II. Executed by hang-
ing in St. Petersburg together with Sofia Pcrovskaya.

* Bund— a Jewish workers’ league active in Lithuania, Poland, and Russia.
A petty-bourgeois political party founded in Wilno (now Vilnius, capital of the
Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic) in 1897. Dissolved itself in 1921. Some
members of the Bund were admitted to the Russian Communist Party (Bolshe-
viks).

I 0 Raskolniks-official name of the Old Believers sect in Russia.

I I Black Hundreds— monarchist terrorist groups founded with the backing
of the tsarist police to terrorise the revolutionary movement in 1905-1907.
Organised anti-Jewish pogroms.

1 2 The First Congress of the RSDLP was held underground in Minsk in
March 1898. Issued the Manifesto of the RSDLP proclaiming the foundation of
the Russian Social-Democratic Labour Party.

1 3 The Second Congress of the RSDLP (July-August 1903), convened in
Brussels, then moved to London. It adopted the Party’s Programme and Rules.
During the discussion the congress broke up into a revolutionary and an oppor-
tunist segment of Bolsheviks and Mensheviks.

14 Bonch-Bruyevich, Vladimir (1873-1955), Soviet Party leader and states-
man. In charge of the chancellery of the Council of People’s Commissars from
1917 to 1920.

1 5 Conference of 22 Bolsheviks (July-August 1904), held near Geneva, start-
ed unifying Party branches adhering to Lenin’s platform.

16 Bogdanov, Alexander (1873-1928), active in the Russian revolutionary
movement, a medical doctor, philosopher, economist, writer of utopian novels.
Organiser and director of Moscow’s Blood Transfusion Institute. Died as a result
of a transfusion experiment on himself.

17 Zemlyachka, Rosalia (1876-1947), professional revolutionary, Soviet
stateswoman and Party functionary, deputy chairperson of the USSR Council
of People’s Commissars from 1939 to 1943.

1 8 Vorovsky, Vaclav (1871-1923), active in the Russian revolutionary move-
ment, man of letters. After the October Revolution, a diplomat. Murdered by
whiteguard counter-revolutionary Konradi in Lausanne on May 10, 1923.

19 Lunacharsky, Anatoly (1875-1933), professional revolutionary, writer,
active in the field of Soviet culture, diplomat, People’s Commissar of Education.

20 Olminsky, Mikhail (1863-1933), active in the Russian revolutionary
movement, historian.

2 1 Bloody Sunday (January 9, 1905), that day tsarist troops opened fire on
a peaceful procession of St. Petersburg workers taking a petition to the Tsar.
More than a thousand were killed, 2,000 wounded. Precipitated the first Russian
revolution of 1905-1907.

22 Pyatnitsky (Tarshis), Osip (1882-1938), active in the Russian and inter-
national revolutionary movement, a leader of the October 1917 armed uprising
in Moscow, member of the Operational Party Centre.

23 Krasin, Leonid (1870-1926), Soviet statesman and Party functionary.
Engineer, Iskra agent, member of the RSDLP Central Committee from 1903 to

1907. After the October Revolution he was a member of the Supreme Econom-
ic Council Presidium, People’s Commissar for Trade and Industry, People’s
Commissar of Communications, People’s Commissar for Foreign Trade, envoy
in Britain, then in France.

2 4 Socialist-Revolutionary Party-a left-wing bourgeois-democratic party in
Russia from 1901 to 1923. Represented the urban and rural petty bourgeoisie.
After the October Revolution, the Socialist- Revolutionaries organised anti-So-
viet rebellions.

2 5 Janis Lacis, member of the Riga RSDLP Committee, in whose carpenter’s
shop bombs were found by the police, and Julius Schlesser, a factory worker,
were freed through an attack on the local prison.

Mark (R.M. Scmyonchikov-Zakharov), member of the Moscow League of
Struggle for the Emancipation of the Working Class, born on September 27,
1877, in the village of Kalikino, near Vladimir, to a peasant family, served in
the 21st Murmansk Infantry Regiment, came to Riga secretly and was co-opted
to the Riga RSDLP Committee. Worked with Maxim Litvinov. In May 1905,
Scmyonchikov was seized in the street, sentenced to 20 years’ hard labour, and
died in prison.

26 Andrcyeva, Maria (1868-1953), Russian actress, joined the Party in 1904.
One of the founders of the Bolshoi Drama Theatre in Petrograd in 1919. She
was Petrograd Commissar of Theatres and Public Spectacles. Carried out assign-
ments of the Party’s Central Committee and of V. I. Lenin.

27 Kamo (Ter-Petrosyan), Simon (1882-1922), active in the Russian revolu-
tionary movement, known for his phenomenal bravery, organiser of “expropri-
ations” of funds from capitalist banks for the needs of the Revolution.

2 8 Liquidators, an opportunist current in the RSDLP, the right wing of
Menshevism, surfaced in 1907. Campaigned for the dissolution (liquidation) of
the underground revolutionary party.

29 Chkheidze, Nikolai (1864-1926), a Menshevik leader. Deputy of the 3rd
and 4th State Dumas (parliaments in tsarist Russia after the 1905 revolution).
From 1921 on, he was a white emigr6.

30 Chkhenkeli, Akaky (1874-1959), a leader of the Georgian Mensheviks.
Deputy of the 4th State Duma. From 1921 on, he was a white emigre.

31 Rubanovich, Ilya (1860-1920), member of the Narodnik movement in
Russia, later active as a Socialist- Revolutionary.

32 Semkovsky, Semyon (1882-?), with the Iskra from 1901, then a Menshe-
vik. In the early 1930s he was a professor, and taught in higher educational
establishments in the Ukraine.

3 3 The Prague Conference of the RSDLP charted Party building in Russia
and the Party’s tactics in the new revolutionary upswing. Elected a Bolshevik
Central Committee with Lenin at its head.

34 Zagorsky, Vladimir (1883-1919), active in the Russian revolutionary
movement, Party functionary. Participated in the Moscow uprising of December
1905. Left the country in 1908. After the October Revolution he was first
secretary of the first Soviet embassy abroad (in Germany). In July 1918, he was
elected Secretary of the Party’s Moscow Committee. Assassinated by Left
Socialist-Revolutionaries.

352

353

3 5 Kamenev, Lev (1883-1937), professional revolutionary, Party function-
ary, and statesman. Was Deputy Chairman of the Council of People s Commis-
sars from 1922. One of the organisers of the opposition.

3* Shlyapnikov, Alexander (1884-1937?), professional revolutionary, fac-
tory worker repeatedly imprisoned in tsarist times. Was People s Commissar
f rJbour a^r the October Revolution. From 1920 to 1922 he headed the so-
called Workers’ Opposition, a factional anarcho-syndicalist group in the Co
munist Party. Condemned by the Party, the group disintegrated.

", Kol lo n tai, Alexandra (1872-1952), daugher of a tsans, -genera, pro£-
sional revolutionary, member of Lenin’s first government after the Oct
Revolution. First woman ambassador and diplomat in world history.

3 3 Kossuth, Lajos (1802-1894), organiser and leade r ■ of the Hunjpmw in -
pendence movement in the 1848 revolution. Initiated the founding of Hunga
rian national army to make war on the Austrian Hapsburgs.

Antonov-Ovseyenko, Vladimir (1883-1939), Russian professional revolu
tionary Soviet statesman and diplomat. During the October Revolution he was
Secretary of the Petrograd Revolutionary Military Committee. Led the storming

° f Taratut^ 1 Victor (1881-1926), active in the Russian rcrolutitmjo

ment, participant in the Moscow armed uprising of December 1905. From
on he was active in the country’s economy in different capacities

- Andrew Rothstein, an organiser of the Hands Off Russia committees,
has for many years now been President of the British-Sovtet Friendship Society
In 1983 the Soviet government decorated him with the Order of the October
Revolution for his meritorious contributions to the struggle for peace and socia

^ r ° Antircw Rothstein is the son of Fyodor Rothstein (1871-1953) Sonet
historian and diplomat, member of the CPSU from 1901, a political emigr*
in Britain from 1890 to 1920 and one of the founders of the Communist 1 arty

° f ^“ov, Alexander (1866-1918), Minister of Internal Affairs from
1916 to February 1917. Tried to suppress the bourgeo,s-democratic
February revolution with resort to arms. Later condemned by the Cheka.

4 3 Kolchak, Alexander (1874-1920), tsarist admiral, an organiser o
the counter-revolution during the Civil War. In 1918 he proclaimed himself
Supreme Ruler of the Russian State. Executed by a firing squad for enmes
against the people by a decision of the Revolutionary Military Committee

,rkU 4 r 4 k T sy urupa, Alexander (1870-1928), Soviet statesman and Party function-
ary, People’s Commissar for Food after the October Revolution, then Deputy
Chairman of the USSR Council of People’s Commissars.

4 5 Denikin Anton (1872-1947), tsarist lieutenant-general, one of the mas
termindsTof the counter-revolution in the Civil War. Fled the country after the

pr>llan<je of the whiteeuard armies in 1920.

4? Yudenich, Nikolai (1862-1933), tsarist general, one of the organ^ers o
the counter-revolution in the Civil War. Fled the country after the failure of
march on revolutionary Petrograd in 1919.

354

4 7 Frunze, Mikhail (1885-1925), Soviet statesmari
military strategist. Played » “

miss „ for Military “ d lieutenant -general, commander

" cd^lie so-calle^f Volunteer Army wiped out by the Red Army m

the south of Russia. Fled abroad in 1920. functionary and statesman,

" Dzerzhinsky , Felix (1877-1926). Sower Patty high ^

a leader of the first Russian revolution of 1905 - 19 ° for Com batin g Coun-

as Chairman of the Cheka Chair-

ter- Revolution and Sabotage) Peop e s Organised the salvation of

man of the Supreme Economic Council l of the USSR. 0*®* civil

children orphaned or left homeless after the First World w

War ’ . v . mr /i 878-1924) Soviet statesman and Party functionary.

People’s^Com'm^ar ^J^’^g^^y^u^tionaiy^nc^professional

revolution^jy. W^hlirman of thi USSR Counci, of People, Commissars from

]924 to Party fuentiouary,

” Skliansky, Ephraim (1892 192«, St m Petrograli .

*- — duri " B thc cw

Kronstadt (February

28-March 18, 1921, incited by

ZZ by td'Z.y :ni”e palpation of the deiegates to die 10th

prominent in building the Soviet «£*» Sa^cTn^Committee,
Council of People’s Commissars, and member oft he party

Political Bureau. A victim of the Stalin personality cult diplomat.

^^S^r^^icehew.— ot

inC 5^ n ^^“^a a '(1874-1920), active in J^evolt^n

international communist movcmcntToo panm d after 1917

of 1 905-1907. Left tsarist Russia as a political emigr p r .

February^ revolution. Headed the Women Workers’ Department of the Party

member of die Si. Petersburg

Struggled for the Emancipation of .he Working Class. Was Chairman of the USSR

S U Pr;:-;Lr^il:Tl^V 5 r 6 pro t ess,ood revolutionary Smdet

rraiesm^tid P^y functionary. Was Chairman of the USSR Planning Commit-

355

tee and First Deputy Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars in the
1930s.

60 Budyonny, Semyon (1883-1973), Civil War hero and Marshal of the Sovi-
et Union. Was in command of troops during the Great Patriotic War of 1941-
1945.

61 Voroshilov, Kliment (1881-1969), People’s Commissar for Military and
Naval Affairs (Commissar for Defence) from 1925 to 1940. Was in command
of troops during the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.

62 Malenkov, Georgy (1902-1988), Soviet statesman. Member of the Polit-
ical Bureau and Secretary of the Party’s Central Committee. Was expelled from
the CPSU and dismissed from office for gross political errors, including viola-
tions of legality.

63 Beria, Lavrenty (1899-1953), political criminal who held various Party
and government offices under Stalin’s protection. Sentenced to death by the
Military Tribunal and executed by a firing squad.

64 Raskolnikov, Fyodor (1892-1939), professional revolutionary, prominent
in the October Revolution and the ensuing Civil War. Writer and diplomat.
Exposed Stalin’s repression policy.

65 Zhdanov, Andrei (1896-1948), was member of the Political Bureau and
Secretary of the Party’s Central Committee.

46 Vyshinsky, Andrei (1883-1954), jurist and diplomat. One of the chief
agents in the unlawful show trials during the Stalin personality cult period.

67 Krupskaya, Nadezhda (1896-1939), wife, friend, and companion of
V. I. Lenin; professional revolutionary, educator, author of works on education.

REQUEST TO READERS

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Gorky and His Contemporaries

Outstanding figures in Russian and Soviet cul-
ture tell about their meetings with Maxim Gorky and
the influence this great man had over their life
and work, and over the inception and development
of Soviet literature. Collected in this book are
essays by Alexander Voronsky, Nikolai Teleshov,
Kornei Chukovsky, Veniamin Kaverin, Mikhail
Slonimsky, Leonid Leonov, Konstantin Fedin,
Vsevolod Ivanov, Isaak Babel, Konstantin Sta-
nislavsky, Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko, Mik-
hail Nesterov, Boris Pasternak, Mikhail Sholokhov,
and others.

The book is intended for a broad readership.

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Felix Dzerzhinsky. A Biography. A team of authors.
Ed. by S. Khromov

This biography of Felix Dzerzhinsky, an out-
standing figure of the Communist Party and Soviet
state, has been prepared by a large team of authors
and is devoted to the life and struggle of Lenin’s
comrade-in-arms, an ardent patriot, internationalist
and fearless fighter for the victory of the revolu-
tion in Soviet Russia.

Ilis life is a shining example of selfless devo-
tion to the cause of the Party and the people.

The book is intended for the general reader.

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